


The Waiting Room

by Meatball42



Category: Leverage
Genre: Character Study, Flashbacks, Gen, Hospitalization, Missions Gone Wrong, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-06 13:17:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meatball42/pseuds/Meatball42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It felt like time had stopped, like the world had stopped, and all that was left was the waiting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Patience

**Author's Note:**

> This was written (and so is set, cause I'm not that creative) mid Season 2, so all characterization will be for that time period as well. Which, considering that's pretty much my favorite time period for the show, made rediscovering this fic a lot of fun for me, and, I hope, will for you as well.

Alec Hardison was usually a patient man.

He had to be. You have to sort through hundreds of megabytes worth of cyber-junk before you get to the good information, sometimes. Really, Hardison's team didn't know all the stuff he had to sort through and put up with and find a way around just to get to a simple surveillance video! Plus, each hack required writing a special program, or at least modifying the code he'd already written, which was a timely thing. Hardison's focus issues really only came up during a job, when the adrenaline was flowing and his fingers were flying over the keyboard. Most of the time, Alec Hardison was a very patient man.

This, however, was torture.

Hardison studied the pale blue walls of the room for the dozenth time, as though somewhere on the bland paint he could read the answers the nurses were denying them.  _Seriously,_  Hardison thought.  _They could at least put up some paintings, or even one of them boring-ass hospital TVs that only airs CSPAN and news reruns._  Hardison sighed. Anything would be better for a concerned friend or family member than just staring at the empty walls, trying to ignore the other people in the room. Trying to ignore their pain, their fear, because yours was already more than you could handle.

Waiting rooms weren't a new concept to Hardison. He'd had several foster brothers and sisters, and putting a bunch of barely supervised, rowdy kids in a cramped household often led to Emergency Room visits. Hardison had visited hospitals more times than he could remember. Most of the time he hardly knew the kid who got hurt, but a few of those visits were highlighted by the same symptoms Hardison was feeling now: a tight gut, unconsciously clenching hands, and trying to swallow with a mouth that felt drier the more coffee you poured into it. Already Hardison was feeling a headache building from his attempts to keep the tears from leaking out of his eyes. Surprising himself, he'd been successful. It was hard to cry when your mind was spinning with facts, images, sounds and  _fear_.

The coffee he'd been drinking for the last few hours in this empty waiting room wasn't helping to keep him awake. The caffeine withdrawal from the three liters of orange soda from the job wasn't helping either. The energy they'd provided had sunk into Hardison's bones, then faded away, leaving him more desperately tired than before. Despite this, Hardison kept his eyes open, focusing on the pale blue walls. There was no way he could fall asleep before he knew his teammate was safe, but he couldn't stay awake either. He was dozing with his eyes open, and the dreams that came in that state were remarkably vivid, because they weren't dreams: they were memories.

…

_Hardison was in the van with Nate, slurping his soda and typing casually on his laptop. He didn't have much to do right now besides monitor the coms: it was Sophie and Eliot's turn to work. The grifter was playing a business liaison between an executive who was siphoning money from government grants and a fake investment firm Hardison had created. Eliot was playing her personal assistant, just in case the three bodyguards the executive had brought to the meeting decided to try something. Parker was sneaking around outside the building, putting a tracker on the mark's car for the next part of the con. Hardison had just finished off his third bottle of soda when the sounds of a fight erupted over the headsets._

_Nate was calling into the coms for information and Parker had rushed into the building. Hardison could only sit helplessly and listen to the grunts of pain and the sounds of flesh hitting flesh that filtered through the earwigs. Sophie was talking hysterically, letting out a screech every once in a while. From what they could decipher, one of the bodyguards had tried to attack Sophie and was now fighting Eliot. The hitter had dispatched two of the guards and was turning to the third when a shot rang out, jolting Hardison and Nate into grabbing at their ears. Sophie screamed, and there were more fighting sounds when another shot was heard, and another. Hardison and Nate were staring into each other's wide eyes, just for something to hold on to, and they both flinched when they heard another violent sound and a crunch, before a fourth gunshot cracked the air._

_There were a few seconds where nobody talked, only breathed. Parker was breathing hard from running, Hardison and Nate were breathing as quietly as they could so they could hear all the details of the fight, and Sophie was making choked gasping sounds every few seconds. But Eliot wasn't making any noise at all. Nate calmly asked Sophie what was going on, but the brunette's breath was shaky and she didn't answer. Hardison could tell that Nate was about to lose the tiny bit of patience he still possessed and shout at the grifter, but Parker reached the room just then and quickly relayed what she saw through the coms. The thief slapped Sophie lightly across the face, to everyone's surprise, but the action woke the grifter from her state of shock. The two women gathered Eliot into a standing position and walked him outside to the van._

_Nate threw open the doors to the van and began clearing away a space in the back while Hardison stared numbly. The hacker had no knowledge on how to treat gunshot wounds, nor did he have any experience whatsoever with situations like this. He was stunned into silence for once, and could only watch as Parker, holding up a barely conscious Eliot, stumbled out of the building. Sophie held open the door, but was too shocked to help Parker support Eliot. Luckily, the thief was surprisingly strong and managed to keep Eliot standing until Nate rushed over to help them the rest of the way. Hardison, finally woken from his daze, slid into the front of the van and turned it on, ready to drive away. He was already plotting the route to the nearest hospital and planning a cover story in his mind. The hacker didn't allow himself to think that he was concentrating on these actions, which he could normally perform on autopilot, in order to distract himself from the ragged breathing in the back of the van. Nate shouted 'Go!' and Hardison pealed out of the lot, breaking the speed limit within seconds._

…

"Conner Elliot?"

A sharp poke on the side of his face brought Hardison out of his trance. He looked wildly toward the source of the jab and saw Parker pointing at a blonde woman in green scrubs who was standing at the entrance to the room. She looked down at her clipboard, then called out again. "Conner Elliot?"

Hardison recognized the alias he'd made for Eliot months previously and stood up. The nurse motioned for him to follow her into the hallway, and Hardison glanced at his team. Parker was bouncing in her seat, her casual shirt and pants still stained with Eliot's blood. Sophie was staring at the walls, eyes glazed over the same way Hardison's had been. Nate was hyperventilating, staring into his lukewarm cup of coffee with an intensity that told the hacker he was trying not to run. Hardison caught Parker's eye and motioned toward the older man. She cocked her head and stared at him confusedly, and he rolled his eyes. Hardison mimed a hug, then followed the nurse through the swinging door of the waiting room.


	2. Caring

W-A-I-T-I-N-G R-O-O-M. wait, ting, groom, wit, win, wig, war, tin, gnaw, nit, moor-

STOP!

Take deep breaths. That's what Hardison said. I don't know why, but I'm trying anyway.

In, out, in out. I do this anyway, why would it make me feel better? When I'm angry or sad or scared I do something about it, breathing just happens by itself. But now I can't do anything, all I can do is stay here as close to Eliot as they'll let me. I could probably get into the restricted area of the hospital, but when I suggested it Nate snapped at me and said to stay in this waiting room. So I'm stuck here, because Nate's the boss (not that that would mean much if I really wanted to go), and he's really afraid of hospitals. He hides it well, he told Hardison he just doesn't like them and that he's worried about Eliot, but I can tell. He's scared. He's really, really afraid, and he's not afraid of much, that I've seen. So I have to stay here, because I don't want to worry him even more. I feel bad for him. So I guess all I really can do right now is breathe.

I look around. This isn't the emergency room's waiting area, with the interesting people who have really weird injuries. There was a little boy who managed to singe off his eyebrows and part of his hair with a firework! But this room is boring. The walls are the dullest shade of blue, the big glowing sign that says 'Waiting Room' flickers annoyingly, and there's NOTHING TO DO!

I'm worrying about Eliot. He never gets hurt. Even when he does, he always plays it down and fights through it. I don't know how to feel now. He's going to be fine, I know that, because he's Eliot and he's always fine. I know that. But my stomach hurts like it does when a job goes bad. I'm scared, and worst of all, I can't run.

I turn my head anxiously. The lack of movement is just making me more worried. When something's wrong, I FIX it. But I'm just sitting here. Nate's just sitting there, taking tiny sips of coffee with his eyes closed; Sophie and Hardison are just sitting there and staring. Why aren't they moving?! Nothing else is moving in this room either. There's a small fish tank in one corner, but I can't see any fish. The clock is moving soooo slowly it must be broken. Why aren't we doing anything? We're just waiting, in this stupid waiting room.

I bounce my leg against the white tile floor, I tap my fingers against the side of the chair, I make clicking noises with my tongue. The little bits of motion aren't calming me down, though. At this point, I'm not sure if jumping off a roof would calm me down. I can't do anything, I can't help him, I can't make the clock move any faster. I'm almost hoping Nate will wake up and give me that confused look he gets whenever he thinks I'm doing something weird, just for a response. But nothing's moving, and I feel trapped in this blank waiting room.

Why do I feel so nervous? Even if Eliot were in trouble, which he's not, why would I care? It's not like it matters. He's just a hitter, another person who thinks I'm crazy that I have to work with. It's not like he's a friend. Hardison said we're a family, and I agreed, but it's not like he  _meant_  it. Not like a  _real_  family. He just meant… a group. That's it. Because he couldn't have meant a real family. That would explain why my stomach is hurting, and why I dropped everything and ran when I heard the fight sounds through the earpiece. But it's not true, and I just ran because I was… concerned about the job.

…

I was putting a tracker on the mark's car when the fight started. I wasn't paying attention, but Sophie gasped loudly, like she was actually afraid, and the sound was so unusual from her, so  _real_ , that I knew it wasn't fake. Then I heard the sound of a man hitting something hard, and crying out. I dropped the tracker and ran toward the building without a second thought.

As I ran I barely saw the hallways fly by, I was so afraid for Sophie and Eliot. I just wanted to get to them so I could help. Then I heard a gunshot and skidded to a stop.

What was I doing? They didn't need my help. Eliot could take care of himself and Sophie easily, and there were only three guards anyway. Eliot could take them out with a blindfold.

Another gunshot, and another wave of panic. My body jumped forward a few steps further down the hall before I stopped it. Why wasn't I with my team? They needed my help!  _Why would they need you?_  I thought, my deepest, unspoken fear coming out when I couldn't control my thoughts. I turned to leave, when a third gunshot rang out, close enough that I could hear it without the coms.

I spun back and raced down the hall, freezing just in front of the door to the conference room. What was I doing? I was running TOWARD the sound of gunfire! Since when was my team more important than my own self-preservation? I breathed hard; my lungs seemed too full of emotion to let the air in.

A fourth gunshot cracked and I jumped forward until I was inches away from the door. My hand was halfway extended toward the handle, frozen by my indecisiveness.

There was a gun inside, danger. If Eliot couldn't handle whatever was happening inside the room, how could I? My instincts screamed at me to run, the best way to avoid getting hurt. My natural response.

But Sophie was gasping, terrified. Nate was asking her what was wrong, what was happening, but she sounded so scared that she couldn't form a sentence. She was whimpering slightly, and all I could make out was "Eliot."

I wrenched the door open before I could think, completely filled with panic. Sophie was standing with her back against the hall next to the door. There was a fallen man in a dark suit a few feet away from her, with blood trickling down a gash in his forehead. Two other men in the same suit were collapsed on the floor, unmoving. I couldn't see Eliot until I took a few more steps toward the table. I would've gasped myself, but I've been a thief for years, and I'm used to stopping any sound before it comes out of my mouth. Nate asked what happened and I talked quietly; I didn't want them to hear that my voice was shaky when I didn't even know why. "Eliot's been shot, he's bleeding a lot." The rhyme didn't even make me giggle like it normally would.

"Sophie!" I called. She didn't move, she only stared at Eliot with her hands over her mouth. Her eyes were huge. "Come on, we've got to get him up!" I ordered when she still didn't move. I snorted. Eliot was lying on the ground,  _bleeding_  and she wasn't doing anything?! What was she waiting for? I stood right in front of her, but she didn't respond. Nate asked her what happened again, but she still hadn't moved, so I smacked her cheek. I saw that on TV, it's what you're supposed to do when somebody's in shock. It worked! Sophie finally looked in my eyes, and I dragged her over to where Eliot was lying.

I was really scared for a moment and I froze just like Sophie. There was  _so_  much blood. Eliot was bleeding from his chest in two places, his right thigh and his upper arm. The forest green carpet was already saturated with blood and it was still leaking out of him. For a moment I was tempted to put tape or gum over the leaks, but when I got my wrist cut on a rappel line Eliot said tape didn't work. I remembered that. He'd been so gentle that I almost forgot he was Eliot. I remembered him smiling but then I saw him bleeding all over the floor and I made myself move.

"Help me pick him up!" I yelled to Sophie, because she didn't look like she could hear me otherwise. I pulled Eliot up by one arm while she cautiously tugged the other. I was carrying most of his weight, but Sophie looked too shocked to help. When we finally managed to get him standing, I wriggled under his arm and started dragging him toward the exit. Eliot was conscious enough to move his feet, but I was still practically carrying him. I got half-way across the room when I choked out "Could I have some help here Sophie?"

Sophie gasped and ran to the door. I was about to yell at her for running away when she opened the door and held it there, looking at me expectantly. I rolled my eyes,  _And they think_ I'm _the crazy one!_  and stumbled toward the door with the dead weight. I mean, I know he was shot and all, but you'd think he could help  _a little_!

Sophie walked alongside us, trying to put pressure on some of Eliot's wounds with her custom-fitted suit jacket. I was a bit surprised, because I'm sure she knows how hard it is to get bloodstains out of fabric, and the jacket was definitely expensive, but I didn't have time to think about Sophie's silly behavior as we lurched down the twisting hallways of the building. It was funny, they didn't seem long when I was running  _toward_  the room, but when I was trying to  _get away_  while carrying a dying friend- no. Not dying. I struck that thought down and focused on walking without putting too much pressure on Eliot. If I pushed him too hard, more blood would come out, like that thing you use to make icing on cakes. Eliot taught me how to squeeze the top of the bag so the icing comes out the bottom. I blinked away the memory, and the tears that came to my eyes when I thought of it.

I almost sighed in relief when we finally got out of the building, but I caught myself again. Sophie held the door open and kept her jacket over one of the bullet wounds as I staggered toward the van. The doors were open and as soon as we came into view Nate ran toward us faster than I thought he could run. He ducked under Eliot's other arm and took most of the weight off me so we could walk faster. Hardison turned on the van just as we reached it, and Nate helped me lay Eliot on the floor. Sophie pulled the doors closed and Nate found the First-Aid kit and showed a really thorough grasp of battlefield medicine as we sped toward the hospital.

…

I sniff a bit, taking a quick glance around to make sure nobody saw. I never let anyone see when I cry. I haven't cried much since I was really little, but the rule stuck with me: never let anyone see you when you're vulnerable. That's when they can take advantage of you the most.

Luckily, no one saw. Nate has opened his eyes and he's glaring into his coffee.  _I wonder what it did wrong._  Sophie's still staring at the same spot on the wall. She has the exact same expression as she did when I ran into the conference room. I'm considering smacking her again, but I'm pretty sure she'd just get mad at me. Or hit me back.

Hardison's leaning back in his chair. His eyes are closed and twitching like he's having a bad dream. I feel really anxious all of a sudden.  _Is he alright?_  I reach out to shake him awake, but I stop.

Why do I care? Why do I feel afraid for Eliot? Why do I feel bad for Nate because I know he feels terrible being here? Why am I worried about Sophie and Hardison? I've never felt so strongly about other people, and I'm scared. They have so much power over me now, I feel bad whenever they feel bad. It doesn't make sense. I don't actually care about them; I never care about anyone else. They're just people I work with, right?

So why do I care?

I'm still debating the point in my mind when the door swings open. I look up out of reflex; I have every single time since the blonde woman brought us here. She's back, and I sit up straighter. I'm holding my breath, and I say 'Yes!' quietly when she calls out Eliot's fake name.

I look to Hardison. Since he made the IDs and the cover story, Nate said he would be the one to talk to the doctors, just in case he needed to explain something. Nate gave me a strange look when he said it, and Hardison said 'Okay!' really loudly. I had a feeling there was something he wasn't saying, but I couldn't figure it out.

Hardison is still sleeping, and the nurse is looking around. She seems confused. I panic and poke Hardison on the cheek. He flails a bit, but seems to understand when I point at the nurse. Hardison walked over to the door, but motioned toward Nate. I knew he was trying to tell me something, but I'm not really good at that. I think I'm supposed to hug Nate. But why?

I stare at Nate for a few minutes. Usual people get uncomfortable when I do that, but he doesn't seem to notice. He's breathing pretty hard. It doesn't seem healthy. I go to poke him on the cheek, but Hardison didn't like that. I pat his shoulder instead.

Nate flinches and nearly spills his coffee. "Jesus, Parker! What are you doing?"

I don't move. I'm used to this. "Do you want a hug?" I ask.

He looks at me like I'm crazy. I'm used to that too. "Wha- why?... I- Parker, what?"

Nate talks weird sometimes. Usually it's with me, but sometimes with Sophie too. I wonder why?

"You look sad." Sophie told me I shouldn't just say things, I should ease them into the conversation, but how am I supposed to say something if I can't just say it?

Nate gapes at me for a moment, then smiles. It looks weird. "I'm fine, Parker."

I don't believe him, and I start to hug him anyway. He yelps a bit and shoves me away. "Parker!" He gasps, looking at me with his eyes wide. I lean away from him, confused and a bit stung. Did I offend him by trying to hug him?

"What?"

"You- you've got-that's-" he's stuttering again and pointing at me. I look down. I'm wearing the same clothes I've been wearing all day. "What's the matter?" I ask.

"You've got blood all over you!"

"So?" I knew I had blood on me, what's the big deal?

He's looking at me like he thinks I'm crazy. I used to this, but I still don't like it. "So get those clothes off, now!"

"You want me to take my clothes off?" That's a bit weird coming from Nate, but he's smart and he usually has a reason for everything. Plus, he looks almost frantic, so I think it's best to do what he says, before he gives himself a heart attack or something. I shrug and start pulling my shirt over my head.

Nate chokes a bit and grabs my arms, forcing my shirt back down. He glances around at the other people in the room, but nobody looked up. They really don't seem to be paying attention to anything around them. "Not here!" He hisses. His eyes are practically bugging out of his head. It looks funny. "Go ask a nurse to find you some clothes, okay?"

It looks like he's calmed down a bit, but he's still looking at me like I did something wrong. It makes me feel… almost shy, or nervous. And sad, like I want to apologize. But I didn't do anything wrong! "Okay."

I walk toward the door, looking back to see if he's still giving me that look. He's not. His eyes are closed and he has one hand over his face. His face is screwed up, like he's trying not to cry, but he's not because he's Nate. He never cries, he's the leader. The dad.

I leave the room, thinking about what I'm going to say to the nurse to avoid thinking about the thought I just thought. I'm just about to turn the corner toward the nurse's station when I hear Hardison's voice. I stop. He sounds like he's crying.

"But…" he sniffles, "he'll be okay, right?" His voice is wobbly like jello. For a second I want to help him, because he sounds so sad, but I freeze. Where are all these weird impulses coming from? Usually if I get the urge to do something it's just to jump off a building or steal something. But these weird feelings are serious.

"We don't know." I recognize that voice. It's the blonde nurse! "One of the bullets tore his aorta and he's lost a lot of blood. There's a chance that he might crash before we can replace the fluids."

"Okay. Thanks." Hardison's voice sounds like he has a stuffy nose. "Can you tell me if sumthin' changes?"

"Of course," the nurse replies, and I can hear her high heels click as she walks away. What kind of nurse wears high heels anyway?

I can hear Hardison breathing. He doesn't move for a minute or so, and for some reason I don't move either. Then he starts walking around the corner, and I duck behind a medical cart just in time. He walks right past me. His face is shinier than usual, and he wipes away the tears before he goes in. I notice that he glares at the neon blue 'Waiting Room' sign before he goes in. Does he hate it too?

I continue down the hall until I see a woman in green scrubs. I tap her lightly on the shoulder, hoping she won't respond the way Nate did. She turns around and smiles at me instead, and I'm a bit relieved inside my head. "Can I help you?" She asks.

I don't know why she's smiling. I can't even imagine smiling right now. Hardison was crying and Nate was sad and Sophie hasn't spoken a word since we got here and Eliot might crash, and why do I feel like crying now, too?

"Are you alright?" The nurse asks. She's still smiling, but she looks a bit concerned.

"I need new clothes." I try to smile at her, because it seems to be what she wants, but she gives me that same look, like I'm crazy. She nods. "Sure. Come with me."

I follow her to a supply closet and she hands me some blue scrubs and points toward a bathroom before hurrying away, giving me that strange look again. I go to the bathroom and lock the door.

I look in the mirror in shock. I really am covered in blood. This shirt used to be blue, but not it's almost completely some crusty brown-red color. I guess nobody noticed before because if I didn't know it used to be blue I never would have guessed. My black pants are stiff.

I take the clothes off and stare at my reflection. The blood soaked through my clothes and I try to wash it off with soap and water and some paper towels, but there's still a pink tint to my skin. I scrub at it, but I can't seem to get it off, and it makes me nervous. It feels like it's trying to eat through my skin. I've had blood on me before, but this feels worse.

I put on the scrubs, and it covers the worst of the blood, but I can still see it on my shirt and pants. There's so much blood… the nurse said he might crash because of the blood loss. My clothes soaked up the blood. Does that mean I helped the blood run away? Is this my fault? For stopping outside the door, and thinking he didn't need my help?

I leave the bathroom and throw the blood-filled clothes in a red bio-hazard bin. I don't know what to do now. I can't go back to the Waiting Room, I know that. I can't sit there and try not to move and try not to cry and sit next to Hardison and Sophie and Nate when this could be my fault. And I can't leave, because Eliot's not awake yet. I decide to wait with him instead. If- when- he wakes up, I can apologize.

I wait to a few minutes by the nurse's station until the blonde nurse comes back, and I steal a look at her clipboard when she sets it down for a minute. There it is- Conner Elliot- Rm. 212. I walk away quickly before anyone even notices I was there.

Room 212 is smallish. There's a bed and two chairs and a few monitors and Eliot. There's a window next to the door, and the bed's right across the room from it, facing the window. I can see his face, and he's pale. Really pale. He's always tan, but now he looks like Sophie when she acts on a stage, with all the extra make-up. I wonder if the nurses put make-up on him. He'd be really mad.

I'm staring at him. Eliot always knows when I'm staring at him, which I do sometimes. He's interesting. So are Nate and Sophie and Hardison. When I stare at Nate or Sophie, they say it's not nice to stare, and when I stare at Hardison he either laughs or gives me that weird look. But Eliot just asks me if I need anything, and when I say no he continues what he's doing and lets me stare.

He's not looking up now. I know if I stare at him long enough, he's going to open his eyes and ask if I need anything, just like always. But he's not. I feel cold and my stomach hurts again, and I don't know why. It's not like I'm sad that he's not waking up. It's not like I'm scared that the nurse said he might crash (I don't know what they means, but it sounds like a car crash and Eliot doesn't need to get hurt any more). It's not like I feel like running to that nurse and telling her she'd better DO something and not just wait for him to wake up. It's not like I care.

"Parker?" I turn, finally looking away from Eliot. It's Nate. "Are you okay?"

He isn't looking at me like I'm crazy now. He's looking at me like he cares. I realize there are tears running down my face for the first time in years. I shake my head. If I talk, I know my voice will wobble just like Hardison's, and I don't want him to see how vulnerable I am.

Nate comes closer and pulls me into a hug. I start sobbing, and Nate's whispering in my ear, it's okay, I've got you. It almost makes me feel better, even though my stomach is hurting so much right now.

Because Hardison's sad and I hate to see him sad. Because Sophie hasn't spoken a word since we got here and even though I'm not good with people I can tell she's in shock, and I hate to see her scared. Because Nate can't stand hospitals and he's staying here even though it hurts, and I hate to see him in pain. Because Eliot might die, and there's nothing I can do, and I hate feeling helpless.

I guess I do care.


	3. Déjà Vu

Nate sipped the coffee and tried not to think.

The feeling was familiar, so,  _so_  familiar.

_Don't think._

Nate gazed at his coffee.

_Don't remember._

Nate remembered.

…

_He glared at the walls of the cramped room. They were a sickly yellow color which the part of his mind which still retained realism suggested was meant to be a sunny color, and provide comfort. His cynical, bitter side, which had grown exponentially in the past months, retorted that it looked like curdled cheese. Nate sipped the lukewarm coffee that the hospital provided and tried not to remember that morning, when Sam had thrown up exactly that color._

_Nate was so deep in his trance that he inhaled several drops of his coffee when the woman spoke._

" _Nathan."_

_Nate whipped around, spluttering, and stood up when he saw the blonde woman. Recognizing her, he walked over and drew her into an embrace, which she returned._

_She pretended she wasn't drying tears on his shirt, and he pretended he didn't notice._

" _Is there any news?"_

_She sniffed once and pulled away, sitting in the chair he'd deserted. Nate took the seat next to it and stared at her intently, taking in the stunned look and puffy eyes with anxiety. "Maggie?"_

_She looked into his eyes, and he felt the coil of fear in his abdomen grow. "What is it?" Nate asked calmly._

" _The chemo's not working," Maggie said shakily, and had to take several deep breaths before she finished. "Doctor Gregor put him at… four months." Her voice broke on the end, and she collapsed into her husband, openly sobbing. Nate put his arms around her._

" _It's okay," he whispered to his wife. "I've got you. I'll figure this out, I promise. I won't let him die." Nate said the last words so quietly that he knew Maggie couldn't hear him, close as they were. He'd been an insurance agent long enough to know the rule: don't promise anything you're not positive you can give._

_His son… a few rare tears dripped down Nate's face._

…

Nate was still staring into his coffee. He knew that if he looked up, he'd be back in that cramped, empty room, painted that terrible shade of yellow that he still couldn't stand.

This waiting room was worse. Because now he can't relax. If he did, if he showed how scared he was, exactly how familiar this situation felt; if they saw how sure he was that he knew the end of this story… he didn't know what they'd do.

Nate took a sip of his coffee, than continued the staring contest.

No. This is different. Eliot isn't Sam, he doesn't have some incurable, barely treatable disease. He was shot.

Yeah, he was shot.  _And it's my fault._  Nate chides himself.  _Those people are dangerous. I knew that when I chose this job._

But that's not the problem. Nate's rational mind knows it's not his fault, he couldn't have predicted that this would happen. Even Eliot, watching as the guards walked into the room, hadn't seen a gun on any of them. The problem was that Nate had a deep sense of foreboding, one that he'd felt only a few times before.

That time in Paris, when he'd shot her, and she'd fallen. There was a moment, then, where he'd felt this burst of inexplicable, irrevocable knowledge that she would never stand again. When she did, it felt like the sun had died and come back.

The first time he'd taken Sam to the hospital, complaining of a stomachache and dizziness. Throughout his entire body was a permeating sense of dread. Looking back, it would seem like he knew what that drawn look on the doctor's face meant as he walked into the waiting room.

When Maggie'd walked up to him with that manila folder, eight months after Sam's death. To be honest, he was surprised they'd lasted so long. Their interactions were always either frosty silences or heated arguments. Still, the knowledge of those papers and the slightly apologetic, yet firm look on Maggie's face spread an icy, numbing feeling through his body, and he'd taken the papers and signed them without looking her in the eye.

Before the job, he'd thought something was off. He'd had a strange feeling that he couldn't identify, but then Parker had made some strange comment and he'd given her a look, and Hardison had laughed, and Nate had to redirect the hacker's focus, and he'd forgotten, for a while at least.

…

Nate watched Hardison carefully, making sure that the hacker's attention didn't stray from his computers. He was also listening to Sophie's conversation with the mark with an intensity that was strong even for him, and he commented and critiqued much more regularly than usual. At one point Eliot, unable to talk due to the mark's proximity, had coughed slightly during one of his comments and Nate had gotten the message. He was being ridiculously overbearing and he tried to stop, but that strange, unfounded anxiety was coiling in his gut and he felt himself longing for alcohol for the first time in almost… a day.

 _God, I could use a stiff drink right now._  Nate sighed quietly. Thoughts of liquor occupied his mind for a few moments and he felt a stab of guilt when the sounds of a fight woke him up.

"What's going on?" Nate said calmly, despite his mind's sudden racing and the sudden growth of that anxiety in his stomach. "Sophie!" He called, a bit of emotion slipping into his voice when the normally vocal grifter didn't respond.

"Sophie! What's happening?" Nate shouted.

"Fighting…" Sophie whispered, then shrieked in tandem with a grunt of pain in the background. "He tried to grab me, then- Eliot!" She cried. There was a loud  _thwack_ through the coms and Sophie gasped, then sighed. "Nate, I-" she shrieked again.

"Sophie!" Nate shouted, overcome by the fear that was now boiling through his veins. Despite his alarm, Nate realized that Eliot had been in worse situations than this, hell, Sophie had been in worse situations than this, and both had been able to use their talents to come out relatively unscathed. So why was Nate's heart about to jump out his throat?

He winced and grabbed at his ear when the sound of a gunshot pierced his ear.

"Sophie!" He cried again, past trying to control his emotions, ignoring the fact that his voice had risen an octave. Another gunshot cracked the air and Nate stared helplessly into Hardison's eyes. The hacker had frozen, his face filled with a level of fear and helplessness that horrified Nate. They flinched simultaneously at another gunshot. Then a fourth. Then deathly silence, broken only by Sophie's terrified gasps.

She was breathing erratically, gasping and sighing in turn, and Nate's mind stopped its ever-present whirling to focus on the sound of her breath. "Sophie?" He asked quietly, unable to form other words.

"Eliot," she whimpered.

If she was worried about Eliot, she was okay. Relief flooded through Nate, then was immediately replaced by guilt and the reappearance of the foreboding.  _Eliot,_  Nate thought with horror.  _Why isn't he talking?_ "Sophie, what happened to Eliot?" Nate asked, some of his apprehension leaking into his tone. When she didn't answer, he repeated the question, louder, but then Parker entered the room.

"Eliot's been shot, he's bleeding a lot."

Hardison slumped back in his chair, staring at the side of the van blankly, the horrified look still present on his face. Nate held his breath while Parker tried to get Sophie to respond, and sighed when the grifter finally seemed to move. He opened the back doors of the van as far as was possible and began clearing away the junk from the floor. Nate silently cursed Hardison for the multiple bags of potato chips and soda bottles he pulled from the van, sending the hacker a glare. But he forgot his anger when he heard a noise behind him, and turned to see the rest of his team exiting the building.

Sophie came first, one arm straining to open the thick glass door. The other was stretched behind her, clutching a clump of fabric. Then Parker walked out, sideways, shuffling awkwardly, and managed to drag Eliot through the doorway. When the hitter came into view, Nate froze.

Eliot's eyes were closed and his face was empty, devoid of emotion, of consciousness. Nate flashed back two years to that heart-stopping moment, the endless whine that made the passage of time freeze. His son was lying on the table, dead, bleeding from wounds on his chest, pale under the doctor's harsh lights, slowly being heaved toward him. For a split second the refracted light from those lights blinded him, then he dropped the trash he'd pulled from the van and raced across the parking lot toward his s- Eliot. It was Eliot who was injured, and if Nate couldn't stop forgetting that he'd get the man killed.

Nate took a deep breath as he pulled Eliot's other arm over his shoulder. Despite his concentration, he ended up tugging most of the younger man's weight onto himself and starting a frantic pace toward the van. Sophie handed off the jacket to Nate and he applied more pressure over one of the wounds, flinching as blood soaked through to drip down his hand. When they reached the van, Sophie clambered inside first and Parker helped Nate settle the unconscious hitter on the floor. They ducked inside quickly and Parker shut the door and sat down next to the prone man just before the van shot out of the parking lot like a bullet- Nate winced as the simile passed through his head.

Sophie was squatting just behind the passenger seat, nearly tipping on her high heels as the van raced around a curve in the road. She was staring at Eliot, mouth agape, and Nate could see she wasn't going to be much help. He looked down at Eliot with a trained eye and appraised the injuries. He cringed mentally, hoping that Hardison was taking them to a hospital because there was no way Eliot would be getting up without one.

"Parker, get the First Aid kit." Nate paused, trying to convince his throat to cooperate and not sound so hoarse. What was the matter with him? He'd patched up co-workers before; insurance may sound boring, but it was a tough world. He'd even treated the team from time to time. Hardison had cut open his wrist on some gizmo and run around muttering anxiously that he was going to die before Nate calmed him down and dressed up the small wound. Parker had whacked her head on the side of a building and needed ice and pain pills. Sophie had sprained her ankle with her four-inch heels.

But Nate had never needed to patch up Eliot. The hitter had always fixed himself, most of the time the team didn't even notice when he was hurt. During one job Eliot had dislocated his shoulder and the next day he was good as new. Parker had hypothesized that he was a robot, and though Hardison corrected her ("Cyborgs are the part-human ones") he didn't look entirely convinced that the thief was wrong.

Maybe that was why his heart was pounding and he couldn't think. Nate stared at the unconscious hitter and felt the beginnings of tears prickling his eyes. He quickly blinked them back: this was no time to be emotional.

"Nate?" The team leader jerked his head up to stare at Parker. She was looking at him confusedly, holding out the First Aid kit. "You wanted this?"

"Yeah," Nate forced himself to move. Grabbing the kit from Parker, he opened it quickly and sighed in relief. It was fully packed with more supplies than the average kit would hold. Eliot had packed it… Nate gulped and shook his head, pulling the supplies he would need from the box.

Tossing some thick packs of gauze at the thief he indicated the wound on Eliot's upper arm. "Dress that up," he ordered, mostly trying to give Parker something to do. He knew she would be restless if she had to sit and watch, and while the arm wound wasn't the worst, it would keep her out of the way. To be honest, Nate wasn't sure if he  _could_  do anything about the chest wounds besides keep pressure on them.

Nate looked up. He could see the buildings and cars flashing by through the front window; Hardison was driving like a maniac. Sophie was still staring at Eliot, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging slightly. "Sophie," Nate said softly. She slowly looked at him, and Nate immediately went to touch her, to try and dispel the terrible emotions he saw in her eyes. But Parker's movements reminded him of his charge and he motioned toward the grifter instead. "Come here, you can help."

He expected her to protest, to complain or to say she couldn't help, but Sophie complied quietly, kneeling next to Nate on Eliot's left side. Nate pressed back to the side of the van and let Sophie crawl around him in the tight space until he was closer to Eliot's head. He passed Sophie her jacket, now soaked with blood on the hitter's chest, and indicated she should press down. She took the garment dazedly, but pressed down hard. What none of them were prepared for was the reaction.

Eliot's eyes opened and his body jerked. Moaning in pain, the hitter shied away from Sophie's touch and she pulled back with a gasp.

"Sophie, keep the pressure!" Nate commanded, shoving the grifter's hands back to their spots on Eliot's chest. He quickly knelt beside Eliot's head and leaned in close. "Eliot, can you hear me?"

Eliot didn't respond. His breaths were labored, his eyes rolling, bloodshot, and he kept moaning. Nate ignored the pangs of fear and pain that the sound caused and lifted one of Eliot's eyelids. "He's dehydrated," Nate decided. "He's lost a lot of blood."

Nate fumbled with the pile of medical supplies until he found a small IV bag of saline. He quickly prepared the needle and rolled up the hitter's sleeve. He was wiping on some iodine to kill bacteria when a hand grabbed his. Startled, Nate looked up to a pair of angry blue eyes.

"He's got enough holes in him!" Parker said angrily, her grip tightening. Nate tried to shake her off, but she wouldn't let go.

"Parker, he needs the IV or he'll dry out!" Parker's eyes looked worried, but she didn't release his hand, so Nate's frazzled mind tried to come up with an explanation she would understand. "I'm adding liquid now, not taking it away."

This seemed to satisfy the thief, and she withdrew her hand, but she kept her eyes narrowed on Nate. The leader inserted the needle with extreme care, praying to God that Hardison wouldn't go over a bump in the road. The needle couldn't cause too much damage, but Nate knew that every little thing that went wrong in a situation like this could multiply.

Quickly taping the IV in place, Nate made sure the liquid was flowing freely, then took a deep breath. He examined the situation. Sophie was knelt half over Eliot's body, cautiously holding the ruined jacket in place and staring intently at the hitter's face.

Parker had successfully dressed the wound on Eliot's upper arm and was now looking at Nate. For a few seconds, Nate met her gaze. The thief's face was paler than usual and her eyes wide and shiny. Her expression was completely open, her walls down for one of the few times Nate had ever seen. She looked scared and panicked, holding herself together. Nate stared back at her for several seconds, trying to force his face to a comforting expression. He could tell the effort was wasted, but after a moment Parker took a deep breath of her own and nodded stoically. She placed her hands over Sophie's and whispered to the older woman, who sat back against the van and let Parker take over keeping the pressure on Eliot's chest.

Nate shuffled forward on his knees until he was behind the driver's seat. Hardison's hands were clenching the steering wheel and he was hunched over it, swerving suddenly and barely avoiding a car racing across an intersection. Nate placed his hand on the younger man's shoulder and was treated to a bout of seasickness as the hacker jumped and barely avoided a fire hydrant.

"How close are we?" Nate asked after he'd swallowed a few times. And the only reason his stomach was currently residing in the back of his mouth was Hardison's driving. It would be inconceivable to believe anything else.

"Four minutes," Hardison said distractedly, maneuvering around an old lady in a lime green punch buggy.

Nate took a quick look back at the puddle of blood that had accumulated on the floor of the van and sighed through his teeth.

Hardison obviously heard. "Two minutes." Nate was encouraged to return to the back of the van by a sudden burst of speed.

Once he'd righted himself, Nate sat back against the van and looked at Eliot. The hitter was absolutely still. His face was lit by the light from the windshield and it was paler than Nate had ever seen it. Nate gulped back the memories that rose from the observation and forced himself to ignore the young man's face.

Eliot's long hair had fallen out of its tie at some point and was now caked with the blood that was forming a glowing halo around his head. His clean black suit had been torn to shreds by the bullets. His body was sprawled out lifelessly and Nate's heart froze for a moment as the sense of foreboding crashed over him like a wave. He slowly forced himself to reach out and touch Eliot's neck, letting out a quiet gasp at the unexpected coolness and rubbery feeling of the hitter's skin. He held his breath for a moment as he felt for a pulse and let it out when he found the movement under Eliot's skin.

Then he frowned and moved his hand. The pulse wasn't nearly as strong as it should be. "Hardison?" He called.

"We're here!" The hacker yelled back before screeching to a halt. Nate caught himself on the passenger seat and grunted as Sophie crashed into him. When they sat up Parker had somehow already managed to open the doors of the van and flag down the people who had come rushing out of the emergency room doors. Nate pulled Sophie out of the car and dragged her to a stone wall near the door, where she sat bonelessly.

Nate rushed back to the van, where several doctors were putting oxygen cannulas on Eliot and checking his blood pressure and doing things beyond Nate's scope of battlefield medicine. Hardison was talking to a blonde nurse in green scrubs who was quickly taking notes on a clipboard as they watched the doctors working on Eliot. Forcing himself to look calm, Nate walked over to the hacker, and tried to talk to him quietly.

"This is Conner's golf buddy, they were walking back when it happened," Hardison explained to the nurse. Parker, having snuck up behind the hacker, snorted, causing him to jump.

"Yeah, um," Nate tried to pull himself together enough to seem credible. He scrambled up the accent he'd used for his small role of the con. "He just scored an eighty, and we were walking back, and…" Shaking his head, Nate pulled Hardison away from the scene. Parker, looking uncomfortable standing so close to the doctors, followed them as the nurse walked over the van.

"Look, Hardison," Nate began, quickly looking around to ensure that no one was in hearing distance. "How about you talk to all the doctors, just in case something comes up?"

"But I'm supposed to be Eliot's sister," Parker pointed out. "Shouldn't I talk to them?"

Nate faltered for a moment, thinking of a convincing reason for someone other than the next of kin to talk to the doctors. "Hardison made the ID's and the cover story, so he'll be, um," Nate gave Hardison a significant look, "better able to explain the situation, especially if something unexpected come up." He tipped his head slightly at Parker while staring at the hacker.

"Oh!" Hardison nodded exaggeratedly. "Okay! That way I can, y'know, make sumthin' up, if, some-, uh, sumthin' happens!" The hacker was glancing at Parker every few words and looking very nervous. Nate sighed internally. No wonder Hardison had a tendency to oversell a con.

Parker had narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but the group's attention was diverted by a stretcher being rolled up to the doors of the ER. Hardison immediately followed it, partially out of fear for his friend, and partially glad for a reason to escape Parker's glare.

The thief herself was looking between the swarm of doctors back to Nate, obviously unsure of where to go. "Ask one of the nurses to show you to a waiting room." Nate instructed.

Parker nodded, a nervous look on her face that really didn't look like it belonged. "Are you coming inside?" She asked cautiously.

Nate looked at her for a moment, then at the doors to the ER. Would he come inside? He'd only set foot in a hospital once in two years, when the team (minus Sophie) had been caught in a bomb blast. Other than that he'd avoided them like the plagues he knew them to be.

Eliot… The team would be waiting inside, not knowing if their hitter would be coming out of it. Nate already knew that feeling, but his team didn't. He couldn't leave them to bear that whirlwind of emotions alone. "Of course I'm coming inside, Parker, don't be ridiculous." He turned away, hopefully before she could see the fear that felt etched into his face.

Nate walked back to the stone wall where Sophie was still sitting, now staring at the doors to the ER. Nate was surprised to see a tear track running down her face. He stopped in front of her, and when he received no response, lightly brushed her cheek with his hand, clearing away some of the remaining moisture. She closed her eyes and leaned into the touch, and a few more tears fell clear of her long eyelashes.

"Sophie," Nate murmured, trying to clear away the new tears. "It wasn't your fault. You know that, right?"

She shook her head, but the tears stopped. Holding her hand and shoulder, Nate guided her into the ER. Parker was waiting just inside the door, ready to guide them upstairs and down a long hall.

Nate was wincing at every sound. Each noise, each voice, every room they passed seemed to fit exactly into his memory. Nate forced the déjà vu back, reminding himself that not only was this hospital several thousand miles from the one where Sam had been treated, but this was an entirely different circumstance. Eliot wasn't his son; he was his friend, even if he'd denied it at first. And even though everything else was the same- the fear, the feeling that if he'd only been smarter, a better person, this wouldn't have happened- his son would be fine this time.  _No, this is Eliot!_  He insisted to himself. This was different, and it would end differently.

As Nate sat Sophie down in that infernally white room and sat down himself, he repeated it over and over to himself.  _This time will be different._

…

"Jesus, Parker! What are you doing?"

Nate jumped at the touch on his shoulder and tried to avoid the bit of coffee that had sloshed from his cup. Luckily, it landed on the floor. He stared at the thief's blank blue eyes and tried (failing yet again) to guess her motives.

"Do you want a hug?"

 _No, I don't want a hug!_  Maggie always wanted a hug.

"Wha- why?… I- Parker, what?" Nate couldn't help but stutter whenever Parker did something strange. It was like his ever-present confidence went out the window when faced with her quicksand-like though processes. Of course, if the same thing happened whenever Sophie flirted with him, well, he had no comment on that.

"You look sad."

It would be far too much like last time to be hugging another blonde woman right now, and if this time was going to be different it had to be completely different. Nate rolled his eyes internally, recognizing irrational thinking when it came to him. But, hell, he always was a bit superstitious, why not roll with it for once?

"I'm fine, Parker."

She tried to hug him anyway. Nate reached out his hand to calmly stop the motion, but gasped and shoved her away instead. "Parker!"

"What?" She looked confused. And Nate's had to deal with too much psychology in his life not to recognize a defensive look when he saw one.

"You- you've got-that's-" He's stuttering again. But this time, it's from shock. Parker's entire outfit is  _saturated_  with blood.

"What's the matter?"

_How can she not see that? It's all over her! Her clothes must be stiff by now, since the blood's had time to dry. How can she not see, not feel that Eliot's lifeblood is covering her skin? How can she not be repulsed by it?_

"You've got blood all over you!"

She looked down at the clothes. For a moment, Nate considered that she honestly hadn't noticed.

"So?"

 _Is she crazy? Honestly crazy?_  "So get those clothes off, now!"

Parker looked confused. "You want me to take my clothes off?" She shrugged and started pulling at the hem of her shirt.

Nate grabbed her arms and made sure no one else saw the strange behavior. Quickly instructing her to find a nurse, he waited until she was out of the room before collapsing back on his chair.

Nate sighed and took a large gulp of the hospital's atrocious coffee and set it down on the table next to him. As if he needed another reason to have a heart attack right now. He glanced around for the rest of his team.

Hardison was missing, but Nate deduced that he was dealing with the doctors. Despite the hacker's emotional response, Nate was sure he could count on the young man to keep working until the very end. He knew Hardison wouldn't leave his newly found family, especially when Eliot needed them all so much.

Sophie, though… Sophie was sitting exactly where Nate had left her, staring at the wall of the room with that blank look on her face. Nate considered talking to her. He knew that he should, that it was what she needed. He'd seen that look on Maggie's face. It was fear, guilt, longing, and hopefulness that wouldn't let itself be squashed. Nate knew that having another person, someone you trusted, could make all the difference when you felt so helpless.

But at the same time, how was he? Nate knew his own body, his own mind. He was barely holding himself together as it was. His hatred of hospitals, the memories of his son that popped up every few seconds, the knowledge of what was happening to Eliot right now… his years of experience told him that the hitter didn't have a huge chance. And even if he did pull through… Eliot was one of the top retrieval specialists in the world, but Nate knew how unlikely it was that Eliot would be able to claim that title again after this ordeal.

He couldn't handle it. He couldn't comfort Sophie, try to reduce her pain, when his own pressed down on him so hard. If he did, he would collapse into the tears that hadn't escaped him for almost two years. For once, he would do the selfish thing.

Nate took another sip of his coffee and tried to stay calm. For a few minutes, staring at the fish tank, the clock, and the irritatingly flicking 'Waiting Room' sign kept him stable. Then one of the doors slowly opened. Nate glanced over and froze.

Hardison entered the room. He was wearing an incredibly fake smile-smirk thing that was meant to hide the tears that were still visible on his face, his wide, swollen eyes and the expression of despair that was absolutely obvious. When he saw that Nate was looking at him, he slowly crossed the room and sat down next to his boss.

"It's, uh," the hacker started, swallowing and stretching that humorless grin further over his face. "It's not good." The smile faltered and Hardison swallowed again, then the mask fell and the black man just looked unbelievably tired. "One of da bullets hit his aorta, an' they're not sure-" he gulped again, "they're not sure if he'll last long enough for them ta fix him." Hardison's lips turned up just the slightest bit and he shrugged, trying to hide the emotions that Nate could see as clearly as his coffee cup.

"Okay." Nate said hollowly, still reeling from the new information. Even though he flinched at the contact, he patted the hacker on the shoulder comfortingly. Hardison sniffed and nodded.

"I'm gonna go get some air." Hardison looked surprised and panicky as Nate stood up. "Can you watch Sophie while I'm gone?" Nate asked. He knew if the hacker had a job to do, he'd be fine.

Sure enough, after glancing at the unmoving grifter Hardison nodded determinedly. "You can count on me, boss." He said surely.

Nate nodded, swallowing for a different reason this time. "I know," he murmured as he walked past the young man.

Nate wandered through the hallways for a while, trying to quash the memories that had emerged when Hardison had walked into the waiting room. He'd been wearing the same expression as Maggie had when she'd enter Sam's hospital room with bad news: horrified, lost, and trying to hide her emotions so she wouldn't worry her son. Usually, it had worked, Sam being either too tired or too sick to examine his mother's face. But Nate had always known.

The thoughts of Sam stabbed at Nate. His son lying on the hospital bed, so pale and tired. He'd lift his head a bit whenever Nate came in, or as time progressed he'd simply crack an eye open. Nate had been given leave from work during the last few months- the only concession made by the company for his son's illness- and Nate had tried to be with the light of his life every second he could.

With those memories pricking at his skin, Nate felt a surge of emotion, but now he knew what it was. It was that awareness that something was going to happen, something terrible. That sense, that unavoidable  _knowledge_ , was back.

This time, though, it wasn't just a feeling that reminded him of another time. He'd felt exactly this way before, on the day he'd left to get a coffee and found his son's room empty. The coffee had fallen to the floor as he'd rushed through the halls of the hospital that he'd memorized in the four months he'd practically lived there. That fear, that inexplicable and inescapable  _certainty_  that something was wrong lent him speed and he made it to that room with its bright lights just in time to watch the final moments of his son's life.

 _No. It won't be like that this time._  Nate promised himself, although he did walk faster than he normally did to the nurse's station.

He found the blonde nurse and managed to sound polite when he asked her for Eliot's room number. He didn't realize that he'd slipped, but as he walked away purposefully, the nurse thought it was odd that he'd refer to his friend by the surname on his chart.

Nate turned a corner frantically, reading from the plates next to the doors that 212 ought to be very,  _very_ close. When he saw Parker, he stopped dead in his tracks.

She was standing with her arms crossed tightly over her stomach, looking through the window. That pose looked so familiar to Nate he couldn't move. It took several seconds to recognize the smaller woman and see the blue scrubs and convince himself that this was Parker, not Maggie, and there was no way in hell that the thief would just be standing there if something was wrong.

Nate took a few steps closer. From this angle he could see the tears running down Parker's face, despite her frozen expression and unmoving eyes.

"Parker?" He whispered. The sounds of the hospital had faded away from his ears, and the word seemed so loud. From the way she slowly turned Nate could tell it was all she could hear as well. "Are you okay?"

She just shook her head, looking vulnerable in a way Nate had never seen on her face and never wanted to see again. He pulled her into a hug and she started sobbing just like Maggie had the day they found out Sam was terminal.

"It's okay," Nate whispered, letting himself fall back into the position he knew: the comforter, the strong one. "I've got you. I'll figure this out, I promise."

Nate looked over Parker's hair into the glass of the room. Eliot's skin was white as a sheet and he was hooked up to an IV, a respirator, an EKG… Nate's mind continued listing equipment as his heart caught in his throat.

Even though he was flashing back two years, even though he was hugging a blonde woman in his arms as she dried tears on his shirt, even if the doctors said they weren't sure he would make it, Nate knew this time would be different. He took a deep breath and let go of the déjà vu.

"I won't let him die." Nate said firmly into the blonde thief's hair.

A few rare tears dripped down his face.


	4. Shock

"I got a bad feeling about this."

Sophie looked up from tightening the straps of her heels. Eliot was leaning against the wall and staring at the ceiling, his eyes unfocused. His expression was somber, which surprised her more than if he had shouted. Instead, the man who had been laughing with her barely a minute ago was whispering a sentiment she hadn't heard from him since the job in Juan, Texas. Stilling the sudden chill that rose up her spine, Sophie tried to plaster a smile over her expression that had suddenly mirrored his.

"What is there to be worried about, Eliot? It's a simple business meeting." She winced inwardly as she heard the slight edge in her own voice that made it clear she wasn't being quite honest. Nate had known her long enough to recognize it, but she could never tell with Eliot.

The southern man's eyes broke off from the ceiling and focused on hers intently. "I know you don't believe that," he said, his tone making it obvious he saw through the façade.

Sophie sighed, leaning forward on the couch where she always sat during the briefings. "It's a business meeting," she stated firmly once again. This time, it was obvious she was trying to convince herself. Eliot's eyebrows raised and she found herself babbling.

"For one thing, it's Nathan's plan, and if he says it'll go smoothly, you know as well as I do that's probably what's going to happen!" Damn him! She found herself continuing the rant after he tilted his head in disdain, her accent coming out thicker as she went on.

"Plus, Beckett will only bring one bodyguard, I'm fairly certain you can handle that, can't you?" Sophie attempted to smile after she said that; she took it for granted that he would have her back in any situation.

Eliot only continued to stare at her; his slightly joking expression, however, which had appeared while she was talking unusually fast, was gone and replaced by that dreadful serious face. It was that which finally made her stutter to a stop. "So really, there's nothing…"

Eliot looked into her eyes until she had to look away. "All right, so I'm not too optimistic about this plan either. Beckett's a paranoid, sophisticated man who's sure to bring extra guards along with a perfectly reasonably excuse to justify it. Nate's intuition has been rather sketchy on this job, it's like he's waiting for something to go wrong." She sighed, looking back into the clear blue eyes that she had come to trust, despite all her misgivings. "And…" She fumbled for a moment with her purse. "I'm a bit a-… nervous, is all." Even though she trusted this man with her life, she wasn't about to admit fear, to anyone.

Eliot sat down on the couch beside her, in Parker's usual seat and murmured to her. "You gotta promise me Sophie."

She whipped her head up to stare at the long-haired man. "I don't know what you're trying to say, but whatever it is, you can just… just-" she stopped, breathing heavily all of a sudden, her cheeks flushed. She turned away on the couch, refusing to look at him.

"Soph," Eliot whispered. His hand brushed her elbow and she turned to him reluctantly. The solemn look on his face, mixed with pain and a hint of fear that she knew he would never acknowledge made her breath catch.

"Promise me…" He locked their eyes together, talking so quietly, but she could still hear him even though she didn't want to. His low, rough voice seemed to tear at her ears and heart. "If anything happens, you get out. You and the team, you get outta there and you don't look back."

She shook her head, face crumbling, and he gripped her elbow. "No, Soph! I mean it! The team has to be safe, ya hear me?" His eyes were flashing, and even though her own were slightly hazy she could see the determination and intent on his face. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, but for once her ever-present poise failed her and she was reduced to nodding, refusing to even acknowledge the tear which slipped down her cheek.

His hard blue eyes seared hers for a moment longer before softening. He let go of her arm, face taking on an apologetic and caring expression. "Sophie," he began gently, before being cut off by the optimistic, jangling ringtone Hardison had programmed into his cell phone. Quickly picking it up, he spoke into it quietly. "Yeah Nate?"

She leaned back against the couch, eyes taking in the ceiling much as Eliot's had mere minutes before. Her heart and mind were in such turmoil that she missed the rest of Eliot's side of the conversation. After what seemed like a second, Eliot was calling her name almost hesitantly, and when she focused on his face he seemed to let out a breath.

"I'm not tryin' ta scare ya, hon, I just want to be prepared."

The anxious woman nodded emphatically. "Of course! There's no need to assume that anything will happen today, after all, this is Nate Ford we're talking about." She smiled slightly, without humor, but Eliot still grinned like it was the funniest thing in the world.

"Yeah," he chuckled fakely. Clapping his hands together he moved toward the door to Nate's apartment. "I know you've got all sort of feminine odds and ends to finish up, and Nate wants me down in the bar to go over strategy, so I'll leave ya to it!" He flashed another nervous smile before quickly slipping out the door and closing it behind him.

She stayed on the couch for another few minutes, pondering the strange behavior of her usually composed friend. But, there was no reason to worry, was there? Eliot was just being overprotective as usual, taking preventative measures that would probably never be necessary. Nate's plan seemed foolproof, and Sophie was absolutely confident in both Eliot's abilities and her own. And, as she'd told the younger man, it was merely a business meeting.

Having fully talked herself down from worry Sophie began applying her make-up in the mirror she'd situated in the kitchen, trying to ignore the little pocket of dread in her chest that wouldn't be comforted by her own assurances.

…

"Conner Elliot?"

She blinked at the name, her first movement in a half hour. It brought back to the forefront of her mind those blue eyes, and the one time she'd seen them without strength and their ever-present, absolutely unbreakable will…

…

"Mr. Beckett!" Sophie's New York accent was flawless, as usual, and she smiled seductively as she walked up close to Steven Beckett, the chairman of a company that supplied the military with software. Unfortunately for the United States Armed Forces, the man had a penchant for selling his company's firewall ciphers to the highest bidder, which had caused the death of a troop of marines working in Afghanistan.

The 5'10" blond man with a wide, trustworthy face and a sharp nose had walked around the polished oak and gleaming glass conference table that was arranged in the center of the office. The room itself was the same shape as the table, about two and a half times as long as it was wide, the modern table situated in the middle so that it was exactly the same distance from every wall. The room was empty except for the table and some comfortable-looking chairs, and the powder blue carpeting was plush, but not so thick that it caught on the high heels Sophie wore. There were no windows, as the room was in the center of the building, and there were two exits: one which they had just come through, and one directly opposite it behind the table. In front of this double doorway stood three men in dark business suits that were tight enough to show their lack of firearms.

Sophie took this in as she flirted subtly with the traitor. The con was to convince Beckett to expand his business into private firewalls, which, coincidentally enough, was a field in which 'Tori Blanchard' already owned a small company. And if there happened to be a slight discrepancy in the written cost for stock control of the company and what it was actually selling for, no one of consequence would be alerted.

"Ms. Blanchard, it's a pleasure to have you here," the blonde intoned, his voice smooth and well-paced, the image of a mild-mannered businessman. "I hope you don't mind that I've brought along extra security, there have been some reports recently which inspired me to increase protection of all the more senior members of my corporation." He flashed a smile when he mentioned the 'senior' associates, and his hand, still holding hers, tightened flirtatiously.

"Of course I don't mind, Mr. Beckett," Sophie tittered, fluttering her lashes noticeably, but inconspicuously enough to not be blatant. "And please, call me Tori." Her voice lowered slightly and she moved minutely closer as she turned her body slightly and motioned toward the table. "Shall we begin?" She said coquettishly.

"Don't flirt so much! You're being too obvious."

Neither Sophie nor Eliot responded to Nate's voice in their ears.

Beckett moved around to the opposite side of the long table, motioning for his men to move from their positions in front of the door. One stood behind him, close enough to protect if he moved quickly, but far enough away to not be too obvious. Sophie saw the corners of Eliot's mouth tighten at this as he sat down beside her.

"Oh!" Sophie suddenly spoke with a self-deprecating laugh. "How silly of me. This is my assistant, Logan Sargent." Sophie motioned to Eliot, who nodded at the chairman before shoving the wire-rimmed glasses up higher on his nose and silently dipping his head down to stare at the files he'd spread over the conference table. Sophie suppressed a smile at his appearance before it could show on her face. He was wearing a neatly tailored black suit with a crisp white suit jacket.

"It's nice to meet you Mr. Sargent," Beckett nodded firmly before turning his attention back to 'Tori'. "Well, I've looked over the paperwork and I can say I am very pleased with this business opportunity. In fact, I think we should discuss this new venture over dinner tonight." His expression and collected air sounded totally professional, but Sophie easily recognized the slight tilt to his lips and tightening around the eyes that showed what it really was.

The voice in their ears sounded again. "Oh, this guy's a slimeball!" Sophie just blinked.

"I think we're getting a bit ahead of ourselves, Mr. Beckett," Sophie said coyly, opening a file and indicating the forms inside. "The papers haven't even been signed yet."

The confident man reached across the table and slid the documents toward him. He signed and initialed them quickly. "Please, Tori," he finished and looked back up, closing the file and sliding across to her with an air of finality, "it's Steven."

"This, this guy-" Nate was stuttering the way he did when he was uncomfortable. "He's being so obvious, no subtly whatsoever-"

Sophie heard Eliot coughing slightly next to her, and although the sound was mistaken as an innocent noise by Beckett, it was the code the whole team used to tell Nate to shut up. Ignoring this, she smiled at Beckett and started to speak the words that would have the mark eating out of her hand, but was cut off by a jangling sound. She stiffened instinctively as she recognized it as the same ringtone that had interrupted her 'conversation' with Eliot earlier, and the knot of apprehension took a renewed grip in her chest.

Sophie watched Beckett as he turned away from the table to speak on the phone, and while Eliot didn't look up from the papers he was inspecting she knew he was also listening carefully.

"What?"

"Well who are they?"

"What do you mean, you don't know? What do I pay you for?"

"They did?" this was said in a much quieter tone, and the youngest of the bodyguards cocked his head to the side right after it was said. Sophie heard Eliot whisper 'Damn!' under his breath and knew he'd seen it too.

"No, I'll handle it." Beckett's voice was cold and he closed the phone with a snap. He slid the thin cell back into his jacket pocket and waited a moment before swiveling the chair to face them. His face had lost all of its composed charm and was now stony. Sophie felt a stab of distress before she remembered that she was on a team now, she had backup, and she didn't have to worry about someone finding the pieces of her body in the Thames the next day.

"You and your assistant are going to come with us, Ms. Blanchard. As well as your associates outside in the black van."

Sophie stood in mostly fake distress as two of the bodyguards came around her side of the table and one around Eliot's. "This is ridiculous!" Sophie cried angrily. "I have no idea what you're talking about!" One of the bodyguards tugged her away from the table by the arm, and she pulled herself away. "Don't touch me!"

There was a loud slap of flesh behind her and Sophie turned to see the bodyguard who had tried to pull Eliot to his feet on the ground, unmoving. She only caught a glimpse before being yanked backwards by the younger bodyguard. Stumbling on her heels, Sophie gasped loudly when Eliot's briefcase flew by her head to hit the guard holding her in the face. The grip on her released, Sophie stumbled quickly out of the way as Eliot advanced on the two remaining bodyguards.

"Sophie! What's happening?" Nate was shouting over the coms.

"Fighting!" Sophie whispered, gasping for breath. She'd forgotten how hard it was to move quickly in this particular fashion in heels; she hadn't had to since working with the Leverage team. The lack of movement made her feel helpless and afraid for a moment, before she remembered that Eliot would take care of the fight.

Eliot was fighting both of the bodyguards at once; the one on the floor still hadn't moved. It wasn't much of a fight, but the two men had obviously trained together and their simultaneous and well-executed attacks were making it difficult for Eliot to put them down. In an instant, the fight had moved near her, and Sophie shrieked as one of the bodyguards nearly crashed into her, recoiling from Eliot's elbow connecting with his forehead. He fell to the floor moaning, but didn't move to get up.

"He tried to grab me, then-" Sophie, having caught her breath, tried to explain to Nate, but the remaining man had just delivered a strong punch to Eliot's jaw and was about to take advantage of the brief moment when Eliot was off balance with a knife he'd just pulled from an unseen sheath. "Eliot!" She yelled.

The hitter stepped back from the fight at her warning, giving him time to grab Sophie's purse that was hanging from the corner of her chair and slam it into the face of the bodyguard. Loaded as it was with make-up, accessories and an extra pair of heels, the bag made a resounding clout as it connected. Sophie gasped when she saw the wound the knife had made as it grazed Eliot's upper arm. She sighed in desperation. "Nate, I-"

Beckett.

Sophie had been watching the fight, she hadn't seen Beckett calmly place his briefcase on the table and open it. Hadn't seen him pull out the piece of machinery that her long (far too long) experience now told her was a Beretta 92FS INOX. Hadn't seen him take careful aim in her direction, slide the hammer back until it clicked. Staring down the barrel of a gun, she flashed back to Juan and shrieked.

The gunshot rang out, and Sophie's world vanished.

A moment later, when she realized that she wasn't dead, Sophie opened her eyes and froze.

Eliot was standing between her and Beckett, clutching his chest.

For Sophie, the world seemed to move so slowly. Eliot turned to her deliberately and mouthed to her the words he'd spoken mere hours before. "Get out."

He might've said the words, in fact she thought he probably had, but she couldn't hear. The sounds were echoing in her mind: his words and the gunshot and Nate's voice in her ear and Beckett's shouting...

The guard whose knife had been lost on the floor lunged at Eliot in slow motion. Sophie choked on the words she meant to scream at her friend and the bodyguard made contact, his powerful fist hitting directly over Eliot's bullet wound. The hitter's mouth opened in a silent cry as he stumbled back. The bodyguard followed him, swinging again. The second fist hit Eliot full-on in the face, and Sophie could see in agonizingly slow increments as Eliot's head and body recoiled from the attack. The hitter regrouped enough to duck the second punch and suddenly recovered the energy to slam his own fist into the other fighter's stomach. Sophie breathed a quiet sigh of relief and turned her head, still in slow motion, to Beckett again.

The sandy-haired traitor was watching the fight, and when Eliot started fighting back, his expression twisted into a hateful visage. He raised his arm again, toward Sophie, and gave her a mocking grin before tightening his hand around the black rubber grip of the gun.

Sophie had seen him aiming at her, seen the fight that ensured Eliot wouldn't be able to save her again. Yet, for all this, she couldn't force her body to move an inch from the wall she was splayed against, couldn't even force herself to close her eyes again as the gun fired for a second time.

That meant she was able to see Eliot forcing both his open palms into the last bodyguard's chest, sending him careening toward Sophie's unmoving form. She could see the bullet shooting toward her, a blur even in her slow motion world.

The bodyguard's form was moving perpendicular to the bullet, but the bullet was moving so fast… Sophie's eyes opened impossibly wider as she measured the distance between herself and the bullet, the man flying through the air…

The bodyguard fell to the floor, bleeding from his left side, right under the arm. Sophie stared at him for several long seconds, and almost missed the newest action in front of her.

Eliot was moving around the furniture toward Beckett with a look on his face that could only be described as murderous. Her world still sluggish, Sophie was able to recognize anger, pain, determination, and as his eyes flicked to her she saw the expression soften slightly in apology and caring. She was so distracted by the emotions playing over her friend's face that she was surprised by the third gunshot as Eliot turned the corner of the table.

Eliot jerked, falling back a step. Sophie's mouth fell open in horror, thinking this was finally the end. Apparently, so did Beckett, because he took a step forward with a look of sickening triumph. Eliot had caught himself on the corner of the table and was hunched, rivulets of blazing crimson liquid flowing down his white shirt and to the floor. The sight made Sophie gag as she likened it to dripping honey, the sweet image and the sour tang of blood contrasting horribly.

His eyes focused on hers, and she could see the clear message in the sharp blue. But Sophie still couldn't move, still couldn't leave. Still hadn't figured out if she would have anyway.

Then Beckett moved a bit too close. Eliot whirled and let fly a vicious uppercut that caught the criminal under the chin, throwing him to the floor. Still, for some unapparent reason, able to see events conspicuously slowly, Sophie felt a rush of relief as Beckett spun and crumpled to the floor. A smile spread over her face to be frozen, once again, by a gunshot.

This time Sophie could hear the short but tortured cry Eliot let out as he collapsed to the floor, only a yard from where Beckett had come to rest. She could see him on the floor on the other side of the table, and his blood was starting to pool on the rug.

The shout woke her up, and Sophie was suddenly hyper-aware of her own gasping, of the moans from the bodyguards Eliot had left on the floor, of Nate talking in her ear. Despite her sudden recognition of these outside noises, her eyes were locked on a shining blue pair, and once again she couldn't move.

Eliot was writhing slightly on the floor, pain clouding his features. But his eyes never moved from hers, and through all the other sounds in the room, Sophie heard him whisper. "Get the team out."

Then his lids half-closed over his blue eyes.

"Eliot!" Sophie whimpered.

…

"Jesus, Parker! What are you doing?"

She hadn't moved. Frozen there. It was Parker who'd brought her back.

…

A sharp pain on her face forced Sophie's eyes to those of the blonde in front of her. Sophie was startled for an instant, surprised by the blue eyes. Her heart leapt in happiness before she recognized the face. Those weren't the blue eyes she most wanted to see.

The world was moving again. Not as slowly as it had been before, but it had taken on a hazy quality, one Sophie could only liken to the dreams one has in the few minutes before they wake up. Parker pulled her around the table, where they stopped for a minute, Sophie standing listlessly behind the thief.

The deep and wide puddle of blood impacted her consciousness without emotion. Parker pulled up Eliot's arm, and Sophie half-heartedly did the same on the other side. She didn't see the point. The spark had left his blue eyes, which had opened slightly and swiveled to look at the ceiling. It wasn't until Parker had pulled the hitter to his feet that Sophie noticed he was actively helping the motion. This realization shocked Sophie's mind again.

The world seemed so vast at the moment, and she like a piece of crepe paper thrown in its wind. The events of the last few minutes had shocked Sophie's consciousness so thoroughly that she had to stop and catch her breath from every new development.

Finally recovering from the insight that her friend was alive, Sophie removed her jacket and pressed it into Eliot's bleeding chest wounds, feeling the blood that was still oozing out stain her hands with its warmth.

The hallways passed in a blur. Sophie couldn't even see anything past the dazed and pained expressions on Eliot's face, the blood from his chest that she couldn't stop however much she pressed, the pants that were coming from Parker and herself but were so noticeably absent from Eliot. Before she knew it they were outside, Nate was shoving her away and taking the jacket, and the only thing that kept Sophie following them was the knowledge that she could  _not_  let her friend be taken from her again.

Sophie climbed into the van, closing the doors behind her, and tucked behind the passenger seat, absolutely spent.

…

"I'm gonna go get some air. Can you watch Sophie while I'm gone?"

That's right. Nate knew how helpless she was, how useless and unable to help anyone, even herself. Just like she'd failed terribly to do the slightest good for Eliot on the way to the hospital.

…

"Sophie."

She heard Nate call her name. For a moment, she was too distracted by Parker working on Eliot's knife wound to respond. But she looked at him, noticing the expression on his face, reading it like the world-class grifter she was. He was concerned for her, worried for her. He wanted to make her feel better. In the middle of this, with Eliot's blood on her clothes, on her hands, he wanted to help  _her_. Any other time, this would've made her heart fly, but in that instant she hated him for letting anything distract him from her friend.

As if in answer to her thoughts, the concerned look disappeared and Nate was all business. "Come here, you can help."

Sophie answered to the command in the voice, not comprehending the words specifically. She moved around Nate when he moved back against the van's wall, making absolutely sure not to touch her dying friend. At this point, Sophie was convinced her own presence was a bad luck charm to the hitter.

Nate passed her the blood-stained jacket. For an instant, Sophie was surprised. First of all, how did her Versace suit jacket turn such an ugly red-brown? She would never buy anything in such a hideous color.

Secondly, what was she supposed to do with it? The light coming through the dashboard confused her, and it wasn't until Nate motioned to Eliot that Sophie realized what she was expected to do. When she pressed down on the prone man's chest with the jacket, he jerked wildly, flinching away from the pressure. Startled and not wanting to hurt him, Sophie pulled away in fear of the sudden reaction.

He started to thrash on the floor, moaning with his breaths constricted and bloody. But the only thing Sophie could see was his eyes, pupils wide, not reacting to the bright light from the front of the van. His eyes focused on hers for several seconds, and she didn't feel Nate pushing her hands back to Eliot's wounds or the sounds of his voice until her friend's eyes closed again.

"Give me the jacket, Sophie," Parker whispered. Sophie looked up, seeing the care and understanding in the younger woman's eyes. "I'll take care of him."

Sophie let go of the jacket and let Parker take over the duty of keeping pressure on the wounds. Sophie sat against the wall of the van, contemplating how Parker, the most anti-social of the group, had realized exactly what she needed to hear: that someone was helping Eliot, making sure he would be safe. As Sophie watched over her friend, tuning out the rest of the world, she prayed for the first time since Juan.

Sophie was woken from her trance when Nate crashed into her, and she clambered out of the van as he pulled on her arm. Still boneless, she let Nate tug her over to a low wall and sat her there. She couldn't tell him, but she was thankful to Nate for giving her a full view of the proceedings, where she could at least see any more problems if they arose.

Two men in long white coats and two women entered the van. Another woman in green scrubs was talking to the rest of her team, but Sophie ignored the blonde nurse until she neared the van where Sophie's attention was centered. Two doctors, a man and a woman, exited the van as two more nurses brought out a gurney, which was put into the van. Less than forty seconds later, by Sophie's count, Eliot was being pulled out of the van on the gurney, already set up with a plethora of equipment Sophie couldn't begin to name. Sophie watched as they wheeled Eliot into the emergency room.

For a few moments, there was silence, as she stared at the entrance to the emergency room. Sophie realized that throughout the entire ordeal she'd never been conscious of the breaths entering or leaving her chest, and took some time noticing the movement. Everything had happened so fast; from the moment that gun went off, it felt like she hadn't breathed, hadn't though, hadn't done anything but attempt, and fail, to comprehend what was going on around her.

She began to relax, began to feel again. The wind was blowing outside the hospital, and it cooled her skin. Sophie breathed and stared at the emergency room, letting the world pass her by as she tried to release the tension trapped in her abdomen.

A hand brushed her cheek, catching slightly on moisture she hadn't realized was there. She closed her eyes and felt more tears fall down her face, the first time she'd been aware of herself in what felt like hours.

"Soph," Nate murmured, kind voice and soft hand working against the tears. "It wasn't your fault. You know that, right?"

Oh my God.

It was.

How many times had she said that, trying to comfort guilty people? Prague, Tianjin, Bucharest, Stratford-Upon-Avon, Tunis, Canberra, the list went on. The only times you comforted someone with the knowledge of their lack of guilt was when they  _were_  culpable.

This was her fault. She knew it, even Nate knew it. Eliot probably knew it, too.

The tension was back, that helplessness. Sophie shook her head in disgust with herself.

Nate gently pulled her to her feet and led her through the halls of the hospital, upstairs and to a set of glass double doors under a bright neon sign. 'Waiting Room', it said.

He sat her in one of the chairs and himself two seats away. Sophie looked at the white walls and let herself relax (a tense, shameful relaxation, but a reprieve nonetheless) into its creamy emptiness for what must have been hours. She sat in that chair, unmoving, feeling that she didn't deserve to be existing, to be experiencing this calm or the slight bit of peace she'd felt outside the hospital, not when Eliot could be dying a few hundred feet away.

For that time, Sophie remembered the events that had just transpired. This empty time couldn't have been very long, for she was still conscious of her teammates, especially Parker, who couldn't seem to calm down. But besides them, she could've been swallowed in a sea of creamy white, where nothing happened, where nothing mattered besides waiting for someone to tell her that Eliot was all right. Or that he wasn't.

It felt like time had stopped, like the world had stopped, and all that was left was the waiting.

…

_She hadn't moved. She hadn't done anything. Eliot had been shot, three times, and she'd watched it happen._

_Was there any way she could be any more of a useless, helpless, damsel in distress?_

_She let her friend down, just stood there while a criminal had tried to kill her._

_Kill_ her _._

_Twice, Eliot had saved her from a bullet, saved her life, and she hadn't even followed the simple instructions he'd given her hours before hand._

_Hadn't even done what he'd asked, that last time, before he'd passed out. Couldn't follow simple instructions._

_She'd always prided herself on her poise, her strength in crisis, and she'd frozen._

_What sort of awful person-_

"Sophie?"

She looked up at the concerned man. He pointed to her hands. Looking down slowly, she saw that her nails were digging into her palms hard enough to break the skin. Hardison's dark hands uncurled her fingers gently, and she felt the pain for the first time.

"You okay, Soph?"

_Helpless. Useless. Frozen._

Open your mouth. Speak.

"No."

Hardison gave an attempt at a smile at her response and sat next to her. "Well, I know you're not okay. None of us are. But did you get hurt?"

Sophie did a quick check. Pain in her hands, tightness in her chest, headache, sharpness in her shoulder. She felt the area and realized that the blood over her left shoulder was warmer than that over her other clothes.

"Woah, Soph, why didn'tcha say somethin'?" Hardison spotted the blood on her hand and pulled her to her feet, careful not to jostle her injured shoulder. They walked out of the quiet waiting room into the hustle and bustle of the hallways. Hardison flagged down the blonde nurse in green scrubs who Sophie had noticed earlier.

The nurse saw the way Sophie was cradling her shoulder and shooed Hardison from Sophie's side. "Oh, this doesn't look good. Let's get you to an examination room, okay?"

_Damsel in distress._

Refusing to be helpless again, Sophie smiled her grifting smile. "Thank you so much. I was just so worried about my friend Conner that I didn't notice. I'm sure it's nothing too serious."

The nurse returned her smile, set at ease by Sophie's calm persona. "I bet you're right. But we should get it checked out anyway."

"I'm gonna tell Nate 'bout this, 'kay Soph?" Hardison looked concerned, and he already had his cell phone out. Sophie nodded over her shoulder as she was pulled away by the nurse.

After peeling the shirt from Sophie (it was sticky with dried blood) the nurse exhaled breath through her teeth. "Wow. That looks like it hurts. Do you want a painkiller?"

Sophie could barely feel the stinging. "No, I'll be fine. Thank you. Do you know what it is?"

The nurse looked at her in surprise. "You mean you don't know?" At Sophie uncomprehending look, she swiveled on the stool of the examination room and took some supplies out of a metal cart. Turning back to the paper covered bed Sophie was sitting on, she spread the supplies over the bed. "You were shot," she said deliberately, looking into Sophie's eyes for a response.

The grifter's eyes widened slightly. She'd been so frozen she hadn't even noticed being shot! "Well, it-it" Sophie stuttered slightly in surprise before regaining her bearing "it all happened so fast, I didn't notice."

The nurse nodded. "I understand, shock can do that to you. This is going to need stitches. It's just a graze, so there should be no adverse effects, but there could be swelling. I'm going to give you a local anesthetic, alright?"

Sophie nodded absently, surprised from the latest startling revelation. Could she have been in shock? Was there a medical explanation for her freezing? Was there a possibility that this wasn't her fault?

The nurse finished the stitching and had Sophie sign a few forms quickly, using the medical information of one of the aliases Hardison had set up for her. With a warning not to move the joint too much, the nurse let her go. Sophie rejoined Hardison at the door to the waiting room.

"Okay, Nate and Parker are at Eliot's room. He's stable, and they think he's not unconscious anymore, they think he's just sleepin'. You wanna see him?"

"Of course I do!" Sophie said strongly, unsure, but not letting the emotion show through. What if this was her fault? She knew Eliot wouldn't blame her, but Sophie would blame herself.

As they walked toward the staircase, Sophie saw Hardison throw a glare over his shoulder. As far as she could tell, it was aimed at the flickering, neon blue Waiting Room sign. She wondered why. It had been a comforting place to her.

When they'd climbed to Eliot's floor Hardison navigated them to the hitter's hospital room, where Nate and Parker had pulled up chairs next to the bed. Sophie and Hardison stopped for a moment, staring at the hitter in the bed. There were wires snaking all over his body, and he was noticeably pale.

Sophie sighed in relief at the comforting, constant beeping of the heart monitor and smiled the team, taking time to look them over. Hardison was explaining to a weakly smirking Parker how the sound that had just left his lips was  _not_ a gasp, but a very manly expression of surprise. The blonde's eyes were pink and swollen, but Hardison sat down in the third of the four chairs in the cramped room and put his arm around her, and she leaned into him. Nate was separated from the younger two members of the group by an empty chair, and this was where Sophie sat.

Nate was staring at Eliot's blank face, his expression empty of emotion. Sophie rested her hand on his shoulder, rubbing it comfortingly. This brought Nate out of his reverie, and he blinked to focus on her face.

"Sophie? Are you feeling alright?" He asked, turning worriedly when he saw the gauze spread over her shoulder.

"I'm fine, Nate," she assured him, before pulling him into a hug. She held him closely, feeling the tense muscles relax as he hugged her back. After a few moments, they relaxed, sitting back in their chairs, though they each kept arm around each other.

Sophie reached out and clasped one of Parker's cold hands in her own, rubbing it to warm it up and being rewarded by a small smile from the thief.

No matter how guilty she felt, she had a duty to her team. And if there was one thing that would absolve her of her fault in this, the one thing that Eliot would want, was that she keep the team safe and happy. And that is what she resolved to do.

Three criminals and an honest man (though the lines had been blurred significantly by this point) waited for their family to be complete again.


	5. Grace

There was a mattress under him, and thin sheets covering his body below his chest. They weren't the quality he had at his apartment, or the same material as the blankets in Nate's guest room, where they all crashed once in a while, so he wasn't quite sure where he was.

He could hear people talking, walking, objects making noise as they came into contact with other objects. The sounds of metal on metal, plastic clattering, and whispers. Quiet murmurs, closer and not muffled like the other sounds, but still dull in his ears.

Eliot had woken in enough strange and dangerous environments that it was instinct now not to open his eyes. He waited for his hearing to grow sharp enough to figure out where he was, but it didn't happen. Instead, there was a slippery fog over all his senses. He was aware of the noise, but couldn't summon enough energy to focus on it. The same presence that was draining his energy, though, was sending a current through his will and the part of him that was always alert, always worrying.

He swore in his mind, lethargically, more of an admittance and acceptance of failure than an actual expression of anger. More space came between each quiet murmur, before they stopped.

Eliot expected his soft and echoing world to be empty in the absence of the voices, but instead he became aware of a very annoying beeping, right near his head. In the inner monologue he hadn't consciously noticed was going on, his voice became annoyed.

_Why do they always put the heart monitor right next ta yer head? It's not like they don't know yer hurt, like you couldn't use the sleep. Every time I end up in a hospital the damn doctors insist on waking me every few hours, never lettin' me sleep. Like they don't know ya gotta have rest ta heal. It's probably cause the only time I let myself end up in a hospital is when I got a concussion, an' you can't sleep with those, but still, it's damned impolite…_

After a few minutes of this (he wasn't quite sure of the time but minutes seemed to be as good a measure as any), Eliot came to the realization that he was in a hospital. After mentally whacking himself for not figuring this out sooner, his mind inexorably came to the question of why, exactly, he was in a hospital.

_Was I caught? But then I wouldn't be in a hospital, and there'd be a hell of a lot more pain than there is now._

Pain… there was pain. Eliot checked his body over as he'd done many times before. Feet fine, calves… thighs. Damn. He wasn't going to be walking on his right leg anytime soon.

As Eliot took account of all his injuries the pain he'd been feeling increased at least threefold. He could hear the beeping next to his head increasing, and the faster the beeps got, the more Eliot could feel the fire in his chest and leg and the louder the murmurs got. In fact, they weren't murmurs anymore and Eliot's suddenly sensitive hearing could distinguish the sounds of his team among them…

Sophie's breathy gasp and Nate's voice, commanding as it called for a nurse, maybe it was how hazy everything was but Eliot could swear he heard tremors in the team leader's yell, a sniff that seemed inexplicably blonde and a shushing that was more masculine coming after it, and a door opening and the muffled sounds he'd noticed earlier were louder, and he could feel where the bullets had hit him, he knew they were gunshot wounds, he'd felt them before, even if he couldn't quite remember how he'd gotten them this time, and it  _hurt_  so much more than he remembered gunshot wounds hurting and the sound of high heels entering the room and the female voice that spoke calmly before moving to his bed, and said 'Mr. Elliot, you're safe now,' and he didn't care about being safe he knew that because his team was here just stop it from  _hurting_  and then she did…

The fog settled over him again and he gasped as the pain seemed to calm down like a horse that a soothing hand had encouraged to stop rearing. As the beeping noise next to his head faded until he could barely hear it, the voices of his team settled too. Eliot realized that the fog was painkillers, good ones, and that was why the pain had been so much worse than he was used to when they started to fade. _That's why I take care o' my own wounds, don't need no morphine or vico…_  Another wave or the fog swept over him, and Eliot's last thought before consciousness slipped away again was that he was glad the rest of the team was safe.

…

Eliot entered the conference room behind Sophie, trained eyes quickly taking in Beckett, the bodyguards, the other exit directly across the table. He swept over the guards to see if they were carrying; the two older men both had knives, while the boy who looked like he was barely old enough to be in college was watching him nervously. He looked Eliot over in a conspicuous and unpracticed manner, and the hitter snorted internally.  _Looks like I'm the kid's first job._

Sophie and Beckett were flirting, Nate was getting annoyed. Eliot kept the back of his mind on this, but concentrated on spreading the files over the table and monitoring the body language of the guards and Beckett. The traitorous chairman made a quick motion and one of the more experienced guards quietly stepped closer to his boss, casually enough to make it look like a whim. These guys were professionals, Eliot realized, not your average rent-a-cop. He pursed his lips. They wouldn't give him too much trouble if it came to a fight, but he could lose precious seconds.

Sophie introduced him, and Eliot noticed the way Beckett barely glanced to the hitter when Sophie spoke before looking back at her, eyes wider than they would normally be.  _She's already got this guy hook line an' sinker,_  he grinned internally.

This opinion was only further cemented when Beckett quickly signed the contract Sophie was holding, forgetting to look it over, thus missing the small changes in this draft that would give Sophie's fake company control over Beckett's. The success, however, didn't stop Nate from protesting,  _yet again_ , the mark's flirtatious nature, and Eliot found himself wishing he could force some sense into his boss, not for the first time.

He coughed quietly, attracting a bit of attention from the older bodyguard who was standing with the newbie. Eliot ignored the suspicious glance; it was worth piquing the guard's interest a bit if it got Nate to shut up.

Eliot winced internally when he heard the phone ring, but he didn't let it show on his features. When Beckett answered his cell he allowed himself a silent sigh of relief. For a moment Eliot had though his own cell had gone off in the middle of the job, and he'd need to do some quick thinking to get whoever was calling him to hang up without attracting unnecessary attention from Beckett or his guards. He was a hitter, and while he was comfortable in small roles like this one, Eliot knew he was no grifter. But the conversation he was overhearing made him forget his relief and he felt his heart pumping faster as it sensed a fight coming.

Listening carefully to the one side of the discussion he could hear, Eliot kept most of his attention on the guards. The older and more experienced two of the bunch didn't seem to respond to the interruption of the meeting, but Eliot was trained to read body language, and he noticed when the fists of one guard clenched and the other tightened his jaw. If that wasn't enough, the younger bodyguard tilted his head to the side where his earpiece was, and Eliot realized that the situation had changed a moment before Beckett's tone brought Sophie to the same conclusion.

"Damn!" Eliot whispered. He moved the chair a bit so that he'd be able to get up faster once this began; he could tell from the sudden tension in the younger guard's frame that this business meeting was over.

"You and your assistant are going to come with us, Ms. Blanchard. As well as your associates outside in the black van."

As the three guards began circling the table, Eliot's head was already working on autopilot, slipping into the same mindset he always took in a fight. One of the older guards was coming around his side of the table, but two guards had gone after Sophie. Obviously, these men had decided that, as the more out-spoken of the pair, Sophie was the more dangerous opponent. Eliot saved that though for a laugh later, and considered the best move to make. He could take out this punk without a second thought, then go for the two who were coming for Sophie. But that would put her in the line of fire, and the other two men, plus Beckett if he decided to get involved, might be able to hold Eliot off long enough to whisk Sophie away. But Beckett was a bureaucrat, he would let his men do the dirty work for him. Eliot could take the knife off one guard and use his life as leverage, but he knew Beckett was cold enough to ignore the threat. Eliot eyed his own briefcase on the table and Sophie's purse, hanging conveniently on her chair, and reviewed the placement of the knives on the older men.

By the time the bodyguards had cleared the ends of the table, Eliot had reviewed all the variables and stood up, plan of attack already traced out in his mind. He kept his eyes fixed on Sophie as the men tried to usher her around the table, but in his peripheral vision he measured, waiting until the third guard was close enough to…

Eliot took a half step backwards, pivoting on the ball of his left foot as he swung his right arm out, connecting the knuckles of his right fist to the guard's temple. The man dropped instantly and didn't move once he hit the floor.

Eliot grabbed the briefcase he'd brought to the meeting and spun it through the air, hitting the face of the man gripping Sophie's arm. He allowed himself half of a thought for relief that Sophie hadn't moved into it's track as it flew inches from her face, but he didn't have much time to ponder this as he moved on the two men.

Sophie had taken advantage of not having someone pulling her backwards to stumble toward the wall. Eliot growled under his breath as he traded blows with the guards: he'd told her to leave if anything like this happened.

The older guard came at him with a feinting punch-kick combo. Eliot let the light jab hit his upper arm, but blocked the kick and responded with a powerful knee to the gut that left the man gasping. He turned just in time to duck a punch from the younger guard, leveling a precise knuckle strike to the knot of muscles at the base of the man's right arm. The man cried out in pain and Eliot saw the obvious sign that he was about to attack when the muscles in his chest contracted, quickly moving so that the powerful kick the guard threw cleared him.

A lucky punch from the older guard caught his ear. Eliot allowed the force of the blow to propel him towards the younger of the two men, using the momentum from the motion to slam his elbow into the younger guard's forehead. Eliot grinned slightly in satisfaction: that was his favorite move.

The grin was wiped from his face when he heard Sophie's cry. He glanced over to her, ensuring that she was only frightened, not hurt. The short glance was long enough to give his opponent advantage, however, and a stronger blow connected with Eliot's jaw. He recoiled again, this time in an uncontrolled stumble, and missed the quiet  _snick_  that was a knife coming free from the guard's hidden sheath.

"Eliot!"

He looked up at Sophie's warning, stepping back just in time to avoid a swipe from the blade. The reaction had saved him lethal damage, but he grimaced as the knife managed to scratch his upper arm. He looked back and reached to Sophie's purse, using his considerable strength to slam the weighted bag into his opponent's face. The quick glance toward the table had shown him a new danger, however, and he started toward Sophie, ready to rush them both out of the room. A quick look at Beckett, however, told him that wasn't going to happen fast enough, and he spun, putting himself directly between Sophie and Beckett, right in the path of the gun the traitor had just pulled out.

Eliot had been shot before, way too many times, so he knew how to brace himself for the shot. He also knew how much it was going to hurt, but that didn't prepare him for the red-hot poker that lanced through his shoulder and out his back.

Eliot quickly considered the injury: it had passed between the bones of his shoulder and his collarbone, and didn't seem to have hit his scapula on the way out. He knew he was lucky; no major organs appeared to have been hit and he wasn't having trouble breathing. That being said, Eliot knew he needed medical attention or else he'd likely be more hurt by blood loss than the bullet's damage.

He turned toward Sophie, ignoring the surprised and angry look on Beckett's face, and said to her in a voice laced with agony "Get out!"

Sophie's whole body was tensed, her eyes impossibly wide, and Eliot could tell she was beyond listening to his instructions. He cursed in his mind. Sophie had broken character in Juan when Nate was shot; he should've expected how she would respond when she was the target. He tried to sum up the energy to tell Nate to get the grifter out, when the lightning bolts shooting from his shoulder throughout the rest of his body doubled with a blow that sent him stumbling backwards.

Disoriented by the sharp pulsing of pain that accompanied every breath and heartbeat, the punch to his face came out of nowhere, and forced Eliot back even further. He almost fell, but caught a glimpse of Sophie around the last guard standing. Her face was twisted in a horror and helplessness that he'd seen before, but never imagined on her pretty features. The sight had anger burning in his chest, and he ducked the second punch from the guard. He let fly a weak punch, but had the presence of mind to aim for the solar plexus, so even the relatively harmless blow had the man doubling somewhat.

Eliot took a quick stock of the situation. Nate was yelling in his ear, but Eliot discounted this when he ascertained that no important information was coming from that direction. The two guards he'd already knocked out hadn't gotten up, though the younger man was stirring slightly on the floor. Sophie was splayed against the wall, and Eliot's eyes widened at the blood trickling down her shoulder. He decided to ignore this until they were out of danger, and lifted his gaze to her face to see how she was taking the situation…

only to follow her absolutely stricken stare across the table to where Beckett had raised the gun again. Taking lightning-fast measurements Eliot realized that he couldn't block this bullet as well, he was too far away. But maybe there was something he could do…

The guard he had knocked the wind out of had recovered, and took a step forward, threatening to take down the smaller figure of Eliot with his weight alone. In Eliot's weakened state, he probably could have, too. But the hitter felt a surge of strength that came from his desperation, and, planting both palms flat on the guard's chest, heaved with all his might.

The man flew through the air at the same moment as Beckett let the second bullet fly. A red flower bloomed on the man's shirt under his arm as he fell, but Eliot was already stalking around the table toward Beckett, concentrating on the ways he would punish the man who  _dared_  try and hurt someone he cared about, temporarily forgetting the burning pain in his chest. He looked at Sophie quickly, just to be sure that she was alright, and couldn't help but try and smile at her. He was about to tell her to leave, again, but before he could try a white-hot explosion took place in the lower right side of his chest. He was thrown by the force of it, but managed to catch himself on the oak table.

Gritting his teeth to keep the multi-lingual expletives that ran through his head from bursting out, Eliot's eyes rolled back from the pain. Instantly he could tell that he hadn't been as lucky with this shot. The bullet had managed to break at least one of his ribs and either bullet or bone had pierced his lung. He could already feel his chest getting tight as blood began to fill the lung and became dizzy as the blood loss made his head spin. Correctly identifying the spatters of blood that came from his mouth whenever he breathed as 'really freakin' bad,' he almost succumbed to the pain, but the whimpers he heard kept him attached to consciousness.

Eliot lifted his head enough to connect his gaze with Sophie's dark brown eyes. Every thought in his mind was concentrated on sending the message for her to get out of here, now. The moment seemed to stretch, as Eliot noticed the small spasms making her muscles twitch and the way her breaths seemed constricted in her chest. Her hands were shaking and her pupils were dilated in fear. Eliot realized she was in shock, unable to move. This thought gave him the will to spin around, and with the last traces of energy in his body he slammed his fist up into Beckett's chin.

His sharp senses caught the fear in Beckett's eyes and the sound of breath leaving the man's mouth in a forced puff as he spun. Eliot also saw the way Beckett's arm came up as he fell, and knew with an ironic appreciation of his luck what was going to happen an instant before the sound of the fourth gunshot pounded the walls of the room.

Eliot let out a high screech of pain as the bullet caught the thick muscles in his thigh, the lack of support immediately causing him to crumple to the ground. Writhing in uncontrollable spasms from the pain, Eliot had one thought at the forefront of his mind. He locked eyes with Sophie and whispered what he was sure would be his last to his friend.

"Get the team out."

…

_Tugging on my arms, sending pain through my wounds… don't make a sound, don't let them know you're conscious… They're taking me for more torture, best to play dead for as long as I can… can't tell them where the monkey is…_

"Help me get him up!"

_Wait… that's Parker!… gotta stand up, get away… don't know where we are, but Parker's tryin' ta get me out, gotta be bad…_

"Can I have some help here, Sophie?"

_Sophie! She's hurt… I remember that… Why's she takin' off her jacket… Damn! Ow! What's she…_

…

"Come here, you can help."

_Nate… Ahhh! What are you doing?!…_

_That's an IV… why is he…_

"…se are we?" "Four minutes." "Two minutes."…

"Hardison?"

"We're here!"

_Ow!… just lemme sleep… stop movin'…_

"We've got a pulse!" "Blood pressure's 65 over 35, we gotta get this guy a transfusion!"

_Oxygen mask… who are these people?!…_

"He's moving!" "Sir, we're here to help, you have to calm down!"

_Let me go!… Ow, stop!…_

"Somebody get the Haldol!"

…

"…get out, but when all that was happening, I was just… I don't know, and I'm sorry for not listening to you. I know I'm repeating myself, but I can't even begin to explain how bad I feel for not helping you at all. When I saw you bleeding there, on the floor, I…"

Eliot didn't move, acclimating himself to the feeling of the breathing tube that was stuffed down his throat and made him feel like he was suffocating. For a few seconds he let the machine breath for him; he'd woken up in hospitals more often than was probably healthy and knew not to freak out at the tube. When he heard Sophie start quietly sobbing, however, he was compelled to open his eyes and get her attention.

"Wha- Eliot?!" Sophie's eyes were red and puffy from crying, but a huge smile lit up her face as she leapt from her seat. She went to hug him, then took an awkward step back, realizing that might not have a positive affect on the situation.

"Well, I'll just- I can't believe you're- you have no idea how- I, I'll…" She shook her head and squeezed his hand before rushing out of the room.

Eliot took the opportunity to re-check his injuries. He presumed he was under the influence of pretty potent drugs, since the gunshot wounds were no more than an ache. However, he suddenly remembered that Sophie was injured as well, and along with that came a renewed dislike for the effects of painkillers in dampening the senses he needed to protect himself and his team.

Keeping him from stewing on this point for too long was the return of Sophie along with a blonde woman in green scrubs. He lay still, patiently waiting until he was able to breathe under his own volition.

"Mr. Elliot? I'm your case nurse, Bunny. We're going to get you off that ventilator, alright?"

Eliot nodded enough to indicate an affirmative response without moving the breathing tube too much. He followed the nurse's instructions, exhaling to remove the tube, then took a small sip of the water Sophie had anxiously handed him. The cool water helped alleviate the burn in his throat from the tube, but it did nothing for the residual pain in his lung from exhaling to remove it. Ignoring this pain, Eliot let loose a flirtatious grin. "Are you here to take my blood pressure?"

Bunny laughed, and a bit of tension seemed to leave Sophie's shoulders. "Not right now, and before you ask, I'm not the one who does sponge baths either." She made a quick notation on the chart before leaving the room with a smile, wishing 'Conner' would start get well soon.

"I see you're feeling better," Sophie remarked as she sat back down to next to Eliot's bed.

"I think I have these to thank for that," Eliot quipped, tugging lightly on the IV that led to the bags of painkillers. "Where are the others?" He asked, having noticed the three empty chairs beside Sophie's.

"Hardison took them to the cafeteria, they were getting a bit uncomfortable."

"Hardison?" Eliot shifted, and Sophie helped adjust the bed so that he was in a more raised position. He tried to hide the winces that came when the motion tugged on the two wounds in his chest, but Sophie noticed them and rubbed his wrist comfortingly. "Yes, he's been remarkably stoic throughout this ordeal. He really took control when Parker was getting ready to jump out a window and Nate tried to drink this place out of coffee."

Eliot smiled, pleasantly surprised. "That's good."

Sophie sat down, her happy expression slipping. "Eliot, I-" She fumbled with her words, and Eliot could tell she was about to apologize again.

"Sophie-" he cut her off before she could get started. "I'm fine. You don't have anything to be sorry for."

"Fine?!" She said loudly, voice shooting up two octaves. "You're in a bloody hospital Eliot! You were shot three times, plus stabbed, and you want to tell me you're fine?! You almost died in the van!" Her voice caught on the last sentence and she stood up, attempting to pace the small room. When she was close enough Eliot caught her hand.

"Sophie. Sophie!" He tugged on her arm until she looked him in the eyes. "I'm a hitter! This is what I do." Knowing that this wasn't enough of an explanation, he sighed and gestured for her to take her seat again. She acquiesced after seeing how the motion made him flinch in pain, switching between an angry glare and a pitying, apologetic expression.

"I've been shot before," Eliot began, holding up his hand to stop her from interrupting. "I've been shot worse than this, and there've been times where I haven't had all this technology an' drugs to help me out. And more times than I wanna admit, I got hurt because I did sumthin' stupid. This time, I got hurt to protect someone I care about." He let that sink in for a moment, and when Sophie looked more pitying at his admittance than sorry, he continued. "And you've got nothin' ta feel bad for. I don't blame you for not doin' anything to help me in the fight, that's not your job. I'm just glad ya didn't get hurt worse than ya did. How is that anyway?" He gestured toward her shoulder.

She looked surprised. "This? It's nothing, I didn't even notice it 'til a while after we got here. But," she sighed, "I still feel like I should've done something. I just stood there and watched."

"You think I'd rather you got involved, got hurt? Yer not a fighter, Soph," he said bluntly. "It might've been tougher if ya had stepped in. An' you warned me, about the knife, I didn't see that coming." He completed the compliment with one of his dazzling smiles, and saw Sophie smile a bit herself.

"I just wish there was something I could've done."

"Ya did more than enough," Eliot said convincingly. "I remember you sacrificed one of yer jackets for me," he grinned.

Sophie let out an authentic laugh. "That was nothing, really. I'm glad you're alright, Eliot," she said honestly.

He nodded. "I am too," he replied, startling another laugh out of her. "Now where're the others? Don't I get any visitors?"

Sophie stood up. "I'll get them," she left with a smile.

…

The door to his room opened, waking Eliot from a dreamy doze. He blinked a few times and smiled when he recognized the blonde hair.

"Hey Park…er?" He trailed off awkwardly when she pointedly ignored him and went to the window that gave the doctors on the floor a view of his bed. She looked through the window carefully, then snapped the blinds shut. After waiting a few seconds in an absolutely quiet and still pose, she relaxed and sat down next to the bed. Eliot watched in amused silence.

"What was that about?" He rasped, throat still sore from the breathing tube.

"I feel bad for goldfish," she replied, looking straight in his eyes.

Eliot waited for a moment just in case she started laughing or something, but she continued to stare at him seriously. "There's sumthin' wrong with you." He shook his head.

Parker didn't respond, but continued to stare at him. When her eyes narrowed slightly, Eliot recognized the expression: she usually wore it during down times at Nate's apartment, when she'd watch the team for hours on end. It was one of the few times she was ever still, and Eliot, seeing it as a blessing, never interfered with the strange ritual, assuming it had some significance to her. Glad for the normal (or at least as normal as you could get with Parker) he responded as he always did.

"You need anything Parker?"

Instead of responding as she always did, with a quick shake of the head, Parker's eyes started to fill up with tears. Eliot was shocked beyond words when they started to trickle down her face, and she let out a small whisper before giving him a huge hug.

"Yes."

…

"Parker?"

Both occupants of the room looked up, surprised, when Hardison's voice interrupted their conversation. They saw the hacker's head poked tentatively around the doorframe, and Eliot waved him in.

"Is everything alright in here?" Hardison asked nervously. "We were gettin' a bit nervous."

"I think we're alright, huh Parker?" Eliot said. The only flaw to the good-natured tone that occasionally crept into his voice was a bit of leftover rasp, and that had almost disappeared. Parker smiled at him in response, the tears long since dried up. She stood up from the chair next to Eliot's bed and walked to the door.

"Your turn," she said to Hardison before leaving the room. Hardison winced as she let the door slam behind her, but perched stiffly in the seat she'd emptied. "How you feelin'?" Hardison asked Eliot cautiously.

The hitter inspected the younger man. His skin was paler than usual, even if it was hard to tell, and there were thick bags under the hacker's eyes and lines on his face that couldn't be explained by his usual obsession with staring at a computer screen, or even from a lack of sleep. Those were stress and worry lines, and Eliot noticed that the usually well-dressed, if fashion-less man hadn't changed his clothes since the beginning of the job, some two days ago.

"Could be better," Eliot answered succinctly. Not wanted to get further into that, he deflected. "You're the one who looks like you oughta be in bed."

To Eliot's surprise, Hardison doesn't defend his appearance or make a joke or anything. Instead, he sighed and relaxeds into the chair. "I feel like I could sleep for a year." He looked straight into Eliot's eyes. "Don't do this ta us again, man."

Eliot was thrown by how humorless the young man's voice sounded. As optimistic and happy-go-lucky and naïve as the hacker was, it was easy to forget that sometimes, he could be more intuitive than Sophie and more somber than Nate. He held Hardison's strong gaze and answered honestly. "I'll try my best."

After a few moments, Hardison nodded slightly and looked away. Eliot was slightly disconcerted that he'd just had an actual moment of male bonding with the geek, but then, Hardison had already proven he deserved more credit than Eliot gave him, if Sophie's words were anything to go by. "I heard you stepped up while I was out."

"They needed me," Hardison answered. His voice was sure, but there was a hint of surprise and confusion. "Sophie didn't say a word fer hours an' Parker was even weirder than usual, an' Nate was way too shaken up to do anything about it." He looked like he was about to continue, but the words seemed caught in his throat and he closed his mouth eventually.

"Thank you." Hardison's eyes shot to Eliot; the expression would've been laughable if it weren't for the situation (and the fact that laughing would make his chest feel like it was on fire). After being stared at for a few seconds, Eliot elaborated. "I need to know that the team isn't gonna fall apart if and when sumthin' happens to me. I know I can trust you ta make sure that doesn't happen."

Hardison's face was now purely comical with shock, and Eliot let a smirk shine through as he reached his hand out to the younger man. It was his left, seeing as that was about all he could move right then, but when he clasped Hardison's hand firmly in his it wasn't the conventions that mattered.

After a few moments, Eliot correctly identified the look in Hardison's eyes. "Come on, you know you wanna," he gave up, and the hacker pulled him into a manhug, being careful not to nudge any of Eliot's wounds.

Hardison stood up before the hug became too awkward and opened to door to the room. Parker skipped in immediately like she'd been waiting right outside the door, and Sophie strolled in at a leisurely pace, completely hiding the emotions that had torn her up minutes before.

A few seconds after that, Nate walked in slowly, a cup of coffee clenched tightly in his hand. The other three made a production of shuffling around and bickering about seating, allowing Nate a measure of privacy as he stood beside Eliot's bed. The team leader put the coffee down on the nearest chair and took Eliot's left hand in his right, staring into the hitter's eyes. Eliot held his gaze and read the depth of the emotions that the uptight and afraid man would never say aloud. He gave the older man an accepting smile and nodded reassuringly when Nate's hand other hand patted his injured shoulder with an almost tender pressure. After a few long moments, Nate let out a deep breath and turned to the team, a real smile coming over his face at long last.

"Hardison? What have we got?"


End file.
